


Of Convenience

by strikeyourcolors



Series: Convenience [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Future, Business, Eventual Romance, Gen, Kind of Prostitution, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Ra's al Ghul might not be that creepy?, Slow Burn, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake sets himself on fire for Gotham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-03-02 21:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18819580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikeyourcolors/pseuds/strikeyourcolors
Summary: Gotham is on a downward spiral, half destroyed and falling fast. With Bruce Wayne in jail and no other funding coming into the city, something has to be done. Tim's fortune is limited, but that doesn't mean he's not going to do everything he can to save it, even if that everything includes selling himself to Ra's al Ghul.How far is he willing to go to save his city? He's certainly willing to trade his life, but what about that of another? What can Ra's reasonably ask of him in exchange for his help? At least, he thinks, he has Jason to count on if the situation gets too dangerous.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ABO fic that no one asked for and was sort of trope-subverting. Some of these ideas were in circulation for "True to Me" and the resulting (unpublished at the moment) sequel, but ended up not being used. I'm tagging as I go, but don't expect them to change too wildly. New content will be warned for as it appears, as well! 
> 
> This is a complete fic, so I promise it will have an ending.

It wasn't very long ago that the world was different. 

Tim remembers it as he packs his things, trying to cull it down to only the essentials. He has a small bag of things that can't be replaced, and larger trunks that will be sent after him of clothing and other personal effects. They may get lost, or stolen, which is why his most sentimental possessions will remain with him at all times. 

His small apartment is hardly Wayne Manor, but it's been a refuge since Bruce was arrested. He's accused of being Batman, accused of mass murder, and no amount of money will sway a judge that he needs to be out on bail to care for his family. Head alpha or no, they simply don't trust him not to disappear. Dick's been implicated, but they aren't out for his blood and at least bribes work for the son's freedom if not his father's. 

It doesn't help that the economy's crashed. Wayne Enterprises stocks had plummeted overnight, taking Drake Industries with it. Tim's obscenely broke now, which is an odd realization for him. There's _always_ been money. Since he can remember he hasn't had to worry about money. Now he's limited to the scant amount of funds that had been in side accounts for alternate identities of theirs for cases they were working. There's nowhere to invest the money and have it be safe. There's no way to replenish it. 

He should be grateful. Being an omega has kept him and Red Robin out of the news. It also severely limits his options, however. Suppressants are expensive, when the stock from the Cave runs out. No one wants to hire an omega for tasks he'd like to do. 

Jason's disappeared from Gotham and Tim thinks that's probably for the best. Dick stays close and keeps charge of Damian; he doesn't need another mouth to feed or another sibling to worry about. Dick will do his best by Bruce and Alfred is on top of all the legalities. Tim's firm on taking care of the _practicalities_ of how they will rebuild. 

They'll need money, for the company and for Batman. They'll need a wealthy patron. They'll need someone with influence to rally for Bruce's release and they'll need someone willing to fight for their right to patrol Gotham if it comes down to that. 

He doesn't tell anyone he arranged a meeting with Ra's al Ghul. He leaves a notebook, explaining his plans and his thoughts. He doesn't want to shatter any of his family by simply disappearing and leaving them wondering if he's alive or dead. He doesn't want them to know the truth, but it feels even worse lying about this. 

Of course it isn't like the old days. He can't grab a private flight to Nanda Parbat and be back the same day. Flights are rare and expensive and even Ra's al Ghul rations his travel expensive with the current state of the world. Tim will be flying on a cargo plane and it will be weeks, if not months, until (if ever) he can come back to Gotham. 

He thinks of the days in Titan Tower with Kon as he padlocks his trunks. He thinks of curling up next to the not-quite alpha and feeling how warm he was. He doesn't think of how Kon died, because he's lost so much recently that he can't dwell on something else. He has to have faith the samples he can use to bring Kon back will be safely stored and can be retrieved when he's on firmer footing. He knows he can reach out to his friends, but they are struggling as well. Right now his family needs him at at least them he can _help_ somehow. 

Tim sends a message to the last address he knows Jason had. It might be defunct by now. Messages disappear all the time and it makes it difficult to track anyone down. But Jason gets a more detailed proposal of what he has planned, and an apology that he hasn't stuck around even though Jason's run away so many times and never once apologized. 

He's sorry for pushing him away after what happened and didn't happen with Kon. He's sorry he didn't run away with him when all of the trouble began this time. He doesn't know what else to say, but at least he says _something_ by way of goodbye because Jason deserves that much and maybe it will give him some closure, too. 

Tim can't sell his brain. There's no market for technological infrastructure. He's been banished from the shambles of a boardroom at Wayne Enterprises because of the harsher laws on omegas, trying to provide jobs and opportunities for alphas instead. He can't sell his brawn because no one wants to damage his fertility or break social norms by hiring him for manual labor. 

He can sell his body. It's all he has left. Ultimately it's just a choice whether to go for quality or quantity and, after some debate, he goes for quality of customer. He knows someone who is very interested in him. Getting a message to the League of Assassins is a bit of a pain in the ass but there's a line of communication open for the sake of Damian and Tim's glad enough to use it illicitly if it gets him what he wants. 

It does. It's barely a week before Ra's al Ghul has a letter sitting on his coffee table, requesting a meeting and that the young detective enjoy his hospitality. 

It's a way out of Gotham and if anyone still has money or connections in this world, it's going to be the Demon's Head. 

He remembers how it felt to put on Robin for the first time. Back then he knew to his marrow that he would always do what was good and what was right. He would make Bruce proud of him and Dick would feel like he was worthy to wear the colors, omega or no. Then, he never would have made deals with enemies for potential gain. He would have argued that money isn't everything. He would swear he'd rather be a pauper or rot away in prison than compromise his value. 

He'd been such a _child_ then. He's twenty now. His birthday had gone unmarked except a card from Alfred and a hastily scribbled post-it note from Dick who remembered about an hour before midnight what the date was. He doesn't blame any of them; it's not like they have much to celebrate. 

Omegas are supposed to stay home. It's been enforced more and more in the last year. The population has been falling steadily. There are fewer jobs for alphas. This isn't the answer; lawmakers don't see it that way. 

Tim tags all of his luggage, but he only carries his backpack and one suitcase with him. He locks the door to his apartment behind him for what feels like the final time and reminds himself why he's doing this. 

It wasn't very long ago the world was different. 

Tim remembers, and he believes surely the world can change again.  
~*~*~

The trip to Nanda Parbat is rough, to put it mildly. Tim spends eight hours cramped among shipping crates, stacks of weapons, and mesh nets of food. He rolls himself up in a coat and a blanket the pilot throws his way and he dreams of economy class, because at least passenger planes were climate controlled and had a television monitor. 

He dozes fitfully for a few hours and re-evaluates his decision at least twenty times. He makes a list of all of his negotiation points so he doesn't forget any; Ra's is a smooth talker. He tries to read one of the few novels he's allowed himself to bring with him, and at last he takes inventory of everything in the plane with him, presenting a list to the pilot when they land. 

They land somewhere in Western Europe to refuel. Tim's allowed an hour to walk around (and pee somewhere that isn't a bucket) before they are back in the air. They added more cargo in his absence and he spends the remaining three hours curled in a ball, desperately trying to meditate. 

After the second landing, he's escorted to a jeep that has seen better days. He had expected a limo, somehow, or at very least a more polished looking vehicle. Still, he doesn't protest. 

He's been traveling nearly eighteen hours by the time the Assassins Compound swims into view on the horizon. It's on a mountain, and sand somehow turns to snow as they make the ascent. He's already mapping out trails and escape routes because old habits die hard, even if Tim would be the one dying of exposure out here if he tried to make a run for it. 

He's at Ra's al Ghul's mercy. The thought should frighten him more than it does. Even if his family knows where he is, it's not like they can ride to his rescue. He's on his own, more than he's ever been. 

The Demon's Head himself is waiting for him when he steps out of the car. The man is wearing a heavy green coat, rather than his cape, but he still looks so polished and posh that Tim feels even grubbier in his travel clothes, with his face haggard and hair a mess. He needs a shower and a meal and to be comatose for at least six hours. He might feel halfway human, then. 

“The Young Detective,” Ra's greets him. “How pleased I am that you have accepted my invitation. I do apologize for the lack of luxurious travel, but surely you know how difficult it is to arrange at all.” He offers his arm, as is traditional for an alpha, and Tim accepts it out of civility if nothing else. He's not here as Red Robin, who would never do such a thing to betray his secondary sex. He's here as Tim Drake and Tim Drake has done far more degrading things as an omega. 

“I have terms,” Tim begins after clearing his throat. 

“Of course.” Ra's looks delighted, somehow. “But let us save that for proper negotiations. You must be craving a moment to yourself after today. Allow me to show you to your quarters.” 

“I'm certain you have other matters to attend to. You can just point me the right direction,” Tim begins but he knows he'd wander around for at least an hour before he found the right location. He's been to this place before and it's practically a maze. 

He hasn't been in the wing Ra's guides him to. It's well-appointed and has an old-world charm that Tim appreciates. He appreciates more, however, that the room he's led into is more modernly appointed. It has electric lights, for one, and rather sophisticated looking plumbing. There is a sitting room with a wet bar on one side, and a door with heavy curtains currently drawn back that leads into a bedroom. The bed is huge and looks soft. Even the small couch in the sitting room looks incredible at the moment. 

“I will have food brought to you. Shall we set our first meeting for tomorrow afternoon?” Ra's lingers by the doorway, apparently not intent on going further. It's odd that he showed him this place personally. Tim expected to be handed off to a servant immediately and he finds it hard to believe the man simply is playing host and there isn't an ulterior motive lurking behind the civility. 

It's a new world indeed. “What time is it here?” He asks because he admittedly doesn't know, anymore. It's dark outside. Beyond that he doesn't have a clue about the hour. 

“Nearly three in the morning,” Ra's replies easily. “Shall we say four in the afternoon? We can have tea.” 

Tim nods. He's already taking off his shoes, desperate to get all his needs met before he collapses. “Where am I meeting you?”

Ra's looks at him like a pet who has done something particularly amusing. “I will come collect you. Goodnight, Timothy.” 

He manages a grunt in response. As soon as the door has closed behind Ra's, Tim is staggering to the bathroom. He barely makes it to the sink, lamenting the fact all his toiletries are still packed, before realizing the bathroom is fully stocked with all types of cosmetic items. Of course. He washes his face and hands, deciding to save a full shower for when he wakes up. A combination of dehydration from the plane and wind exposure has left his face chapped and he slathers on face cream afterward, trying not to stare too long at himself in the mirror. He looks like the walking dead. 

There's food in his sitting room by the time he emerges; the servant has come and gone without him hearing which is a bit alarming. There's no time to think of poisons or drugs in the food; Tim's absolutely starving. The meal is simple with soup and bread, but it's delicious and exactly what he needs on a queasy, shrunken stomach. It's nourishing and filling without being too much and it's easy to mindlessly chew and swallow which he appreciates. 

Every part of him is exhausted. It's as though the past few months have finally caught up with him. Bruce's arrest, the police ransacking Wayne Manor, his desperate attempts with Lucius to save the company...all of it horrible in its own right and one disaster occurring on the heels of another. He'd wanted to save Bruce. He'd wanted to save Gotham. He couldn't do either. They all had to sit back and watch as the city crumbled around them and the heart of their family remained imprisoned. With the lack of money, even in the court system, Tim's somehow doubting Bruce gets a speedy or fair trial. 

Tim locks the door to his sitting room as though that will do any good against an intruder. He drags his bags into the bedroom and uses a chair he finds in there to barricade that door and at least give him time to wake up if someone comes crashing through it. He can't be as paranoid as he needs to be; he's simply too exhausted at this point and it seems very unlikely that Ra's would go to the trouble of getting him here just to have him killed. 

He barely gets his clothes off and the covers down before he collapses into bed. The sheets are obscenely nice. The blanket is pleasantly heavy. He hasn't felt this level of luxury since he was home, at the Manor. 

For just a moment, Tim feels the traitorous prick of tears behind his closed eyelids. Ultimately, though, he's simply too tired to grieve for things that are no longer tangible. 

This is how he will get those things back for all of them. He just has to convince Ra's to believe in his cause. 

He falls asleep already planning for the day ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions/Comments/Prompts/Screaming appreciated in reviews or [on tumblr](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/ask)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Ra's negotiate over tea. It goes about how Tim predicted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll pick a posting day and stick to it, I swear. It just won't be today. 
> 
> Warnings for discussion of financial gain during surrogacy negotiations, just in case that needs to be warned for.

He's familiar with the sensations of jet lag, but that doesn't make it any easier to adjust to it. He wakes up to sun pouring in through the window he hadn't bothered to draw the curtain on the previous night. Tim has only a brief thought of getting up to close it before he falls back asleep. 

The next time he's woken it's to the soft clatter of dishes outside his bedroom door. He tenses, ready to spring up if the door to his bedroom is tested, but it isn't. Soon there's no sound at all outside the bedroom. 

Tim stretches sore muscles, taking his time waking up. He feels a bit hungover and a bit confused as to the actual time. He makes use of the dressing gown hanging in the bedroom to slip into; he'll have to unpack but he wants to wake up a bit more first. He removes the chair barricading his door and, hesitantly, edges out. 

The door from sitting room to hallway is still closed, but his dishes from last night's dinner have been cleared away and replaced by a new set. Breakfast, he assumes, and squinting at the clock shows that it's nearly ten in the morning. Nearly a full night's sleep is something to be grateful for. 

Breakfast is porridge with honey and dates on top, along with a selection of fruit. There's also a carafe of coffee and Tim has to restrain himself from desperately gulping it down to chase the cobwebs from his brain. An English-language newspaper has been left on the table with the dishes and he browses through it as he eats. He's going to have to find something to do if he stays in this room for very long; the silence and lack of anything familiar is a bit maddening. 

Unpacking proves to be a little more complicated than he anticipated. The drawers and shelves of the wardrobe in the bedroom are already full of clothing. It's all his size, if not his style. He relocates some of it, stacking some of it higher and pushing clothes hangers closer together to make room for his limited wardrobe. The bathroom, likewise, is fully stocked with toiletries. Tim gives the soap and shampoo a cautious sniff, deciding he likes the scent well enough. His bath products remain packed in their plastic bag inside his suitcase. 

Predictably, his phone doesn't have service. His laptop can't locate a wifi signal but he thinks it would be basically impossible to have wifi all over the compound anyway. He sighs, vows not to go into technological withdrawal, and takes a shower to scrub the grime out of his hair and maybe make himself feel a little more human. 

Four P.M. Looms on the horizon with what is definitely the most threatening tea time of his life. Tim knows he has this handled; he's a champion negotiator. He's led Wayne Enterprises through risky mergers and acquisitions and done so without breaking a sweat. He reminds himself that in this case, even if none of his demands are met, it's not as though he's any worse off than he was before he came. He's lost a bit of time, perhaps, and caused needless worry to others, but he's not _losing_ anything. 

It's the thought that he might succeed that chills Tim even as he stands in the near too-hot spray of the shower. He's not risking money or business expansions. He's gambling with himself; his body and his life. It goes against everything he's been taught and everything he believed for himself. He's an omega; that doesn't mean he's to be traded or bought or treated like an object because of his sex. He's decimated alphas for suggesting he sell his body for professional gain. 

That might be exactly what he's planning on doing. He hasn't decided, but he's not firmly against it, and that's frightening. 

He writes down his talking points of the negotiation. He puts pen to paper as far as what he wants out of the arrangement and ranks how important it is he receive each of them. He decides what he can do without (largely personal comforts) and what is most vital to his future plans. 

Then, there's the matter of what he's willing to give up. His freedom, obviously, or he wouldn't be here. He would prefer that Ra's not slip into his body like he's slipping into a new suit but if that's what it takes, Tim decides, he would allow that. He would simply require his friends and family be alerted that he's no longer in control of his physical form. He's willing to be the man's companion. He's willing to be his _spouse_ if, God forbid, Ra's has changed his mind on how antiquated marriage is. 

Of course there's the question of a child. Tim knows it will come up, even if his visceral and instant urge is to deny that it might. Ra's has made no secret of wanting an heir to replace Damian and his distaste for Talia to be the one to create that heir. He likes clean bloodlines and good genetics and he seems to believe Tim has both. 

Ra's will have to meet all his demands if he wants any genetic material. Tim decides that right away. 

Lunch is served later in the afternoon. This time the servant knocks before appearing with the meal. It's a young woman, probably a few years younger than Tim, and she looks almost dainty even though she swings trays around as though they weigh nothing. She doesn't speak, only nods at him when he speaks to her, and hurries out. 

Tim eats all of the meat and cheese on the platter. He's going to have to find something to pass the time while he's here or he'll do nothing but eat, honestly. 

He dresses in the suit he brought with him and hung up in the bathroom while he showered to steam the wrinkles. It's not his best suit; that would have required transportation completely flat and a dry cleaner. It's still one he knows he looks good in and it's one he bought himself; he's not stupid enough to actually believe that gives him power but he feels like it does. 

It is precisely the appointed hour when Ra's arrives. He, too, knocks, and Tim doesn't bolt for the door and walks to it at a reasonable pace, instead. The man is in his traditional robes and cape; apparently he hasn't seen fit to dress for the occasion like Tim has. “How charming. The suit survived your travel very well if I may say so, Timothy.” He offers his arm again. Tim is careful to place his fingers in the appropriate position to show this is a formal escort and not a familiar one. “Shall we begin?”

It's not as though he has other options. He reminds himself with every step. 

~*~*~

Tea is a relatively pleasant affair on what Tim would call a patio. Ra's has a fancier name for it, but it is a fenced-in concrete slab outside the doorway and so it's a patio in Tim's mind. Never the less, there is a well-manicured garden around them and the weather is chilly but not obscenely cold. The tea is served warm, not too hot, and it's particularly delicious even if Tim much prefers coffee. 

“How much do you know about the situation in Gotham?” He questions when they've run out of any type of pleasantry or small talk to exchange. 

Ra's lifts his cup and quirks an eyebrow. “How much would you expect me to know?”

It's almost a joke. Tim doesn't really want to think of the man who practices human sacrifice actually having a sense of humor. “Everyone knows about Bruce, even if the police can't prove anything yet. He's not going to be out until the trial at the earliest and, even then, if he's found guilty of half of the charges he'll be in prison for a decade.” 

“If the prison system withstands the economic crisis,” The old man replies breezily. “Governments begin cutbacks in organizations that serve those such as prisoners. Prisoners tend to rebel when they are not fed and are overcrowded.” 

He probably knows from firsthand experience, but it's nothing Tim hasn't thought of before. “Dick is free, so far, but he has that sword of Damocles hanging over his head for a while. The city itself is heading toward chaos. There aren't enough jobs for even half the population and inflation is out of control. Bruce maintained that no metas should be allowed in Gotham even in his absence and they've stuck to that. Of course, most of the heroes we want are having trouble in their own cities.” 

This is, honestly, the longest Tim's been allowed to talk about these problems in a while without being interrupted. Sometimes it's someone trying to reassure him that things will be fine. Other times it's an alpha promising his weak little omega self that they'll take care of him. Ra's simply listens, and nods. Tim takes another sip of tea to moisten his suddenly dry mouth. “We'd take up the cowl again. All of us would, if we were able. But that takes resources and money and all the money is gone with Wayne Enterprises, more or less. The police force is overwhelmed. We're overwhelmed doing what we can in our civilian identities.” 

“Detective,” Ra's says with amusement and the name, which should be Bruce's, sounds so wrong referring to him. “Am I to understand you have come to me for a loan?” 

Heat instantly rushes to his cheeks and he feels ashamed enough that he could wish for the ground of the garden to swallow him up. He might not be able to hide the physical reaction to the words, but he can hide the emotional one. He lifts up his gaze and meets Ra's' eyes, brown tinged with green. “I have no money to repay you, obviously, and it isn't as though I can get gainful employment somewhere. You probably wouldn't see a return on your investment for ten years, if ever. The motivation to do a good deed and help a city in crisis isn't of any use to you.” 

“But you have something to offer,” he replies, and it isn't a question. It doesn't take a particularly smart man to understand where Tim is leading with his conversation, and Ra's is far from stupid. 

“Myself.” It's best, Tim decides, to be blunt. Confusion can result from using vague terms or alluding to activities. “You made no secret of your interest in me in the past.” 

“Perhaps it was a passing fancy.” 

“You offered to _buy_ me from Bruce,” Tim reminds him as though he could have forgotten that particular incident. 

Ra's leans back in his chair, but his eyes are sharp. “That did needle you both quite a bit. What are you proposing, Detective?”

The list runs through his mind. “That depends on what you're willing to give me,” he admits. “I'm willing to give all that is in my power to give you. I won't kill anyone for you. I won't betray my family or my friends for you. But anything else I can offer? You can ask for those things.” He swallows, putting his tea cup down before it reveals the fact that his hands are trembling. If he was negotiating to let Ra's kill him for sport, he would be less nervous about the interaction. 

The man isn't going to make this easy. Tim can see it on his face. “I would like specifics, lest I miss step. By giving me yourself you mean your body?”

“My companionship,” he corrects as though that's any better when they mean basically the same thing. “I doubt you have any interest in pairing yourself off, but that if you would prefer. I would remain here and at your disposal within the limits I previously set. You know I have skills and I would put them to use for you. I would be personally at your service as well.” He's still, Tim realizes, avoiding bluntness and the words he swore he would use to get his point across cleanly. “I would have sex with you,” he adds in and hopes it's not as clumsy as it feels. 

Ra's has the good manners not to leer or even to smile. “Sex and matings usually come with children, Detective.” He's being just as practical. “You are aware I would like an heir. I would accept you, were you not an omega. However I would prefer to be provided with a child with your genetics.” 

“I can give you my genetic material for your heir,” Tim agrees. It will be strange, being genetically related to a leader of the League of Assassins, but he can get past that when Gotham is in order again and he sees what the sacrifice was worth. 

“If I expect you to carry my child?” Ra's prompts. 

Tim is sweating suddenly even in the cold air. He nearly chokes as he swallows the tea in his mouth. He tries to breathe. He tries not to panic. “I thought Talia had perfected an artificial womb. That's how Damian was created, right?”

Perhaps invoking Damian's name to Ra's isn't the best idea but the old man doesn't appear to have a reaction to it, murderous or otherwise. “She would lead you to believe such but the process was quite flawed. Hundreds of fetuses never made it to viability and a score more were badly flawed. It was quite the miracle that even one child emerged from the experiment.” He calmly sips his tea and Tim kind of wants to slap it out of his hand, immature as the reaction is. How can he be so casual about it all? “I am perhaps old-fashioned in my view but I would want an heir provided to me in the traditional manner.” 

It's gone to the most drastic scenario Tim pictured, but of course it would. He knew it would. He had so little to offer as an omega, outside his ability to breed. He wants to scream about the unfairness of it all. He's worked so hard to be _someone_ but it's still this feature that could gain him anything at all. 

“That is quite the sour expression on your face,” Ra's notes dryly. “I am aware your...aversion, shall we say? I am aware of your aversion to carrying or giving birth. It has been noted quite extensively in your psychological work-ups. I also would like to re-enforce that I would not make this offer to any omega, Detective. I want the best for future generations and your genetics would be quite impressive when combined with mine.” 

Tim refuses to picture a child that is the combination of their genetics and yet that's exactly what he is going to agree to provide. “I want everything.” The words come out in a rushed spill and Tim sucks some air in through his nose to slow himself down. “If I give you a child in the traditional way, then I want all of my demands met.” 

“Name them.” 

It tests his memorization, but he does. He wants legal help for Bruce and an escape from prison should the justice system fail. He wants assistance for his family. He wants funding to prop up the infrastructure of Gotham and he wants the finances that would allow them to take to the streets again as vigilantes if necessary. He confesses he knows that it's never going to be the glory days of the empire Batman built, but he wants enough that they could be safe with quality body-armor and weapons. 

When he's finished making demands they feel so paltry, even if Tim knows they amount to hundreds of millions of dollars. 

“I have my own requests,” Ra's counters. “I must be provided with an alpha heir. I will accept a male, or a female, but it must be alpha.” 

“Because you're a sexist,” Tim snips back as though he doesn't need anything from this man. 

“Because I am a realist, Detective. Perhaps in a century, alphas will willingly bend the knee to an omega ruler. Perhaps they will come to respect omegas. As of the time being they do not and I want no chinks in the armor I provide to my successor. There should be nothing that could be exploited and being an omega or even a beta could prove disastrous.” 

Tim can't argue because he knows what Ra's is saying is true. Omega-rights and respect for them has come quite far in the past hundred years but people are slow to change. He can't imagine it would be easy to rule an empire of this sort as an omega, even if he wants to fiercely argue that a child of his could do so. He knows Ra's employs assassins of all sexes: male, female, alpha, beta, and omega. 

“I want a limit,” he counters. “I'm not giving birth to an untold number of children if none of them are alphas.” 

“Five attempts for a healthy alpha child and I will leave you to your own devices and fulfill my end of the bargain,” the man offers. 

“Three attempts. The odds are in your favor. Omegas account for only twenty-five percent of live births.” At least, Tim remembers reading that in the past few years. “Omegas are also more likely to bring a healthy alpha baby to term over betas.” 

Ra's reaches to pour himself another cup of tea. He refreshes Tim's without being asked. “The odds are still rather split, are they not?”

Damn it. “Slightly skewed toward alphas,” Tim admits. “I believe the estimates were that forty percent of births from omegas were alphas and thirty-five percent were betas.” 

“Five chances.” Ra's nods. “I will hold you to two children if the first is an alpha but also a female. I have no wish to have too many children running around, Detective. They tend to cause trouble and lead rebellions.” 

“Perhaps that's just your children,” Tim quips. 

Ra's looks at him, curiously. “As will these be,” he reminds him patiently. “Have you forgotten already?”

Tim bites his lip because in thinking of his own children he had, in fact, forgotten they would also belong to Ra's. “Five chances. If the gestation lasts past twenty weeks it counts as an attempt.” 

“Agreed. Shall I have a contract drawn up so that we might see the terms in black and white?” Ra's is behaving as though this is all so reasonable. It really is, Tim thinks, like he just negotiated a merger instead of negotiating to pay millions for what amounts to an omega captive. 

He can just nod mutely. 

Ra's nods. “Finish your tea. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.” 

They sit in silence until Ra's announces he has business to attend to and will join Tim for a late dinner. He agrees, because it's not as though being difficult to start things off will aid him in any way.

He's getting everything he wanted. He just has to tune out how much it is costing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews loved, especially when it's experimental like this. Got a question, a prompt, or a request? Drop them below or [here](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/ask).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim stops taking his suppressants. It doesn't actually amount to much, except letting him get a better feel for his would-be captor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to include that this won't be a long fic, or actually a very involved one once things get rolling! This fic did diverge into different plot lines, so when all is said and done there will be a follow-up "alternate universe" of this fic. 
> 
> ...I swear it's simpler than it sounds. 
> 
> Warnings in this chapter include a non-explicit discussion of rape and a non-explicit medical exam.

He has dinner with Ra's that night and they talk about how best to allocate money to Gotham in order to sustain it while it recovers economically. They discuss the very real possibility, as well, that it will never recover. Tim has to hope and also sets to work establishing a financial council to help guide the city and spend the money in proper ways. 

It's strange how quickly he settles in. Tim's been shuffled about a decent amount in his life so he supposes it's no surprise he adapts so quickly, but some mornings he stays in bed for at least ten minutes staring up at the ceiling and wondering how he ended up in this place. 

He helps Ra's make arrangements to fulfill his demands. The contract is signed and he sends a copy to Barbara Gordon, because she'll keep it safe and she's smart enough to be legal counsel for him should anything go terribly wrong. 

There's work to be done, both for Gotham and for Ra's. Ra's has taken the offer of his problem solving skills quite literally and Tim finds himself with maps of the complex to rearrange storage rooms for efficiency and with weapons orders to decide where and in what they should invest their finances. It keeps him busy, which is nice. 

It's even nicer to be busy when he realizes his suppressant pills are about to run out. He has back ups for the next several months, but he's due to come off them and have a heat. He doubts Ra's will want to wait. 

“I want to see my brothers,” Tim blurts out at dinner that night. 

Ra's glances at him with suspicion. “You know how difficult that would be to arrange.”

“I miss them.” That's true. He misses them but also their scent. He misses the protective sense of family and pack as his hormones surge and try to remind him he should be adding members to their group. 

“What is truly on your mind, Timothy?” Ra's questions. 

He refuses to answer. Instead he launches into a topic involving the quality of the soil around the compound and how they should farm it. Their deliveries of food from nearby areas have worked well so far but they have the manpower and there's no reason they can't cultivate the unused areas and put them to work for making the complex entirely self-sustaining. “Some solar panels wouldn't go amiss either,” Tim concludes. “The sun isn't very strong but the altitude should compensate for that and there's a good deal of space to install them. I doubt that the cost will be offset immediately but-” 

“Enough.” The word silences him, but the tone of the man across from him is quite calm. “While I agree with your ambitions for a self-sustaining facility, that is not what is rolling around in your brilliant mind. You have a concern. I would like it shared.” 

What's concerning is that Ra's has such a window into his mind. Tim hasn't worked hard enough to make himself unreadable. 

“I thought we agreed to be honest, Detective,” Ra's adds as he folds his napkin and leans back, a sign for the servants that he's finished this course. Tim isn't quite used to a three course dinner being a nightly affair. He can never quite finish it all and it feels decadent to leave food on his plate. 

He's going to find out eventually. Tim may as well bite the bullet now. “I'm about to finish my pack of suppressants and it's a break month. I'll have a heat if I don't start another packet right away.” 

Ra's, he reminds himself, is hundreds if not thousands of years old. He's no doubt familiar with omega biology and yet Tim feels a bit awkward discussing such things. “Would you prefer to start a new packet?” Ra's questions simply. 

It's surprising. Tim stares at him for a beat too long, then tries to stare at the table as his dishes are cleared away. It allows him at least a moment to re-order his mind because he hadn't expected that response. “I would assume you would want me to deliver my part of the bargain as soon as possible. No pun intended.” 

The man lifts a glass of wine. “You do know what they say about assumptions, Detective.” He takes a leisurely sip while his companion waits on knife's edge for the next statement. “I would rather have you comfortable in your present circumstance before you carry. If you would prefer to have your heat cycle completed and begin anew, alone, then I would allow you your space.” 

“Really?” Tim can't quite resist questioning. 

Ra's shakes his head. “Contrary to your visions, Timothy, I am hardly a rapist. I have women and men of all designations eager to share my bed should I desire it.”

“Rape isn't about sex. It can be about control,” he replies. 

The man sighs softly. “We can debate philosophy later, I assure you, but do trust me when I say I prefer you invite me to your bed even if it is simply out of obligation. Make your plans and I will see you go undisturbed if you would prefer.” 

Dessert is some kind of sorbet. Tim can't quite put his finger on the flavor. It's close to vanilla but not exactly. His stomach is already achingly full but he's come to realize that Ra's won't finish his meal if Tim doesn't take at least a few bites and the dinner will drag on forever. “I do want to see my brothers. I know they're alright but it's...it's almost a physical need to see them.” He's not lying about that. It's an ache to be surrounded by them. “I know I can't get them here every heat or whenever I want them but I think that planning something for later would be nice.” He pauses. “If you would allow it.” 

Ra's pushes away from the table. “We will see, Timothy. I believe you would agree there are a lot more pressing matters at hand than orchestrating a family reunion.” 

He would agree to that fact. He stands up as well, as he usually does. Dinner is served late; he knows it's a posh and upper class thing to do. He still feels like he should be going out on patrol, though he hasn't done that in nearly a year at this point. He's always been some mix of a night owl and an insomniac even if they try to force his system into some sense of normalcy here. 

“I wish you would re-consider your nightly rituals. A cup of tea and a warm bath, for example, would probably be far more soothing than a sprint around the complex as though the hounds of hell are behind you.” Ra's' words sound, for a moment, so much like he cares that it startles Tim. He never had any doubt Ra's would be alerted to him going for a jog every night before turning in but that he's brought it up with concern behind it is...

It's weird. Tim doesn't like it.

“I've never really been a warm drink and warm bath kind of person.” His apartment didn't even have a bathtub. 

“No, you have been the type to work yourself to exhaustion,” The older man agrees as they come to the hallway where they normally part ways until the following day. Ra's leans forward and for a moment Tim is frozen, expecting a kiss. 

He gets one, but it is only on the forehead. Ra's doesn't even try to scent mark him. He's being a perfect gentlemen so far and it's not at all as expected. “Goodnight, Timothy.” 

Tim runs even longer that night. He changes into acceptable clothing for working out and creeps outside before he starts. They are used to seeing him by now, running through gardens, leaping smaller walls, and all together simply trying to get his energy out. There are no skyscrapers here. It's remarkably dark; not like the lights of Gotham. 

He thinks of running away, running until he drops and dies of exposure. It's not a very deep thought, but it lingers somewhere on the surface of his mind. He wonders if Ra's would chase him down. He says he's not a prisoner; that if he breaks their agreement then the contract will be dissolved and he can count on no more aid and that's entirely, insufferably fair. He might be able to stand it more easily if he was here against his will. He'd long for freedom more if he was deprived of it, instead of it it was simply out there waiting for him to return. 

He's absolutely exhausted by the time he returns to his rooms. He doesn't have time to think beyond his most basic needs. That's the way he likes it. 

~*~*~

Tim stops suppressants. He makes arrangements for his heat with Ra's. Only beta and omega servants will attend him. They will leave food outside his door, which is to remain locked, and Tim will retrieve it when he feels up to moving. 

Ra's doesn't seem at all angry that Tim isn't willing to invite him into his quarters during the duration. It's almost like another methodical business arrangement, which leaves Tim aching for a familiar room and familiar scents and familiar people to check on him. 

His heat doesn't arrive on schedule. That isn't so abnormal for him with all the pressure he puts on his body as a vigilante. He waits an entire week before he informs Ra's that the carefully laid plans and their marked off schedule will have to be altered. He's been off drugs too long to start another round of them and delay his heat again with any success. They simply have to wait. Tim's always hated this part; it's one of the few things that made him dislike his sex at all because he enjoys the ability to plan far too much. 

Ra's suggests he call a physician to attend him. Tim refuses, at first. “I would hate to realize only well into our arrangement that you could not hold up your end of the bargain, Timothy,” the Demon's Head informs him casually and Tim realizes it wasn't ever really a choice at all. 

He has a full medical work-up he brought with him from home to present Ra's as proof of his health. He takes those to the physician, who works in a sunny exterior building of the compound. The building is actually rather decorative and is surrounded by gardens, which is a surprise for someone who must treat the wounds of assassins. 

The doctor is an alpha. He's not surprised but also not particularly at ease with the man, who looks over his medical file with enough scrutiny that it appears he understands the format and terms involved, then looks him over with the same level of judgment. 

Tim really doesn't want any type of physical, internal exam. He settles for having blood drawn, peeing in a cup, and letting the man press around on his belly. “Tender?” He questions. 

“A little.” That could be because his internal organs are essentially being smashed. 

“Previous pregnancies?” 

“None.” Somehow, as the man's brow creases and he presses harder, Tim gets the idea he thinks he's lying about that. 

“You're not carrying now,” the doctor says as though that had ever been in question. Perhaps for Ra's it had been. It's definitely something for Tim to discuss with him later. “When was the last time you copulated?”

These questions should feel invasive but, unfortunately, he's used to them enough as an omega. He can barely go to the doctor for a runny nose without having a history of heats and sexual encounters taken. Obviously they can't trust him not to be pregnant when they treat his sinus infection. “Too long ago to matter. Before my last heat, which was four months ago.” 

The alpha tisks at him which isn't a good sign but Tim is beyond caring. He's done his part of this charade. It's confirmed when the doctor announces the results of his tests. He's fertile. There are hormones present that appear to be building into a heat, simply more slowly. “Avoid stress,” is the suggestion and diagnosis he's left with. 

The next day a masseuse arrives in his room. Tim can't argue because he does like a good massage and if he's eventually going to have Ra's al Ghul's baby the least he can do is accept a gift from him, right? He's talked himself into it within moments. 

Ra's spoils him, all things considered. Tim doesn't want to accept the sweets or the massages or the new books to read. He wants to insist that none of this is going to have any effect on the arrival of his heat cycle. It's when he realizes that Ra's is showing _courting_ behavior that it worries him all the more. If this is a business arrangement then Tim can deal with it; if it becomes a romantic relationship he doesn't think even someone taught by Batman to hide emotions can cope with it. 

He finishes all the work he possibly can in anticipation of his upcoming heat. He thinks he can leave completed items outside the door with his food trays but he doesn't want to be concerned about finishing anything time sensitive while his hormones overwhelm him. His heats are never very long; this shouldn't put him too far behind. 

Of course, the fact that his heats start after another week of Ra's' gifts, just convinces the alpha that he needed to pay more particular attention. Tim's going to have to be more careful with his actions; he can no longer count on Ra's to keep it professional. 

He keeps his outer door locked and barricaded. The bedroom is set up for him to den, though he forgoes the bed for the sitting area in front of the fireplace and drags his bedding down there instead. It's not going to be a fun couple of days; he only has a few drugs to help him through and he needs to ration them. He doesn't have a plethora of sex toys at his disposal or any trusted friend to call for help. It's the first time since he came here that he feels well and truly alone. 

He reminds himself that he wasn't abandoned; he chose to come here in the hopes of making things in Gotham better. He hasn't been cast out from his family and he's had heats away from them before. Still, logic fails him, and it's especially terrible in the middle of the night when everything seems to be a permanent stillness. He plays a game of deciding who he would call to spend the night with him, were it possible. When that gets physically painful he, just for a traitorous moment, thinks of Ra's. Wouldn't it be better to try for a child this heat? He would get some relief and his part of the bargain would be over in ten months. Then he could go back to Gotham and actually put the money to good use. 

Tim spends a few hours chewing on a makeshift gag made out of a pillow case, until his teeth tear the fabric and it soaks up enough of his spit to be useless. He doesn't call out for anyone, but it makes him feel more secure to be unable to do so if his hormones get the better of him; there have to be ears everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reviews so far! Prompts/Questions/Whatnot will be answered below or [here](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/ask).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim goes into heat and has an unexpected visitor, who verbally slaps the crap out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are halfway through, or so. 
> 
> No major warnings apply to this chapter. There's a little bit of potential slut-shaming, a character in heat, and the cold insertion of logic. 
> 
> Jason and Tim have a pre-existing relationship, to prevent that question from being asked. Enjoy!

It's the final day of Tim's heat when he stirs in the middle of the night to a figure in his window. The window is _high_ and not easily approached by any balconies. At first he thinks he's hallucinating. He's sure he's dehydrated and he's more than exhausted and loneliness has gotten to him enough to invent a creature flying up into his bedroom. 

Imaginary beings don't smell like _that_ , though. Tim can catch the metal tinge to the smell from the scent blocker they use in the Cave before they go out on patrol. Beneath that is another metallic smell of weapons and oil and, past that, there's a kind of spice that he recognizes nearly instantly. It sends a pang of want through him. “Jason.” 

Jason looks around the room for a moment and Tim finally lifts a hand from his position in a mound of clothing on the rug. He's partially hidden by an overstuffed armchair. His would-be brother and sometimes lover kneels instantly, hands reaching out to try to unroll him from the blanket burrito he's made himself. “Shit, Timmy. Are you hurt? I tried to get in through the door but it was locked.” He pauses upon reaching bare skin and Tim shivers a little at the sudden brushes of air against him. “Ew, you smell. You've been locked away because of a heat and not because you were a bad boy?”

“You make it sound so sordid,” Tim complains but he is so desperately, wonderfully glad to see Jason. He writhes so he's half over Jason's lap and can wrap his arms around his waist. Scenting him this close doesn't bring much more than scenting him at the window had, but he's warm and real and familiar. 

Fingers lightly shift through his hair, like they haven't been apart nearly a year. “I don't need any help to make this sound sordid, kid. You sold yourself like a whore to fucking Ra's al Ghul. That's pretty sordid.” 

Putting it that way makes Tim angry and it's only partially because it's the truth. “I did what I could to save Gotham. I didn't see any of the rest of you helping out or thinking of a plan. In fact, I didn't see you at all.” 

Jason allows him to scoot away and prop himself up on another chair. He pulls a sheet over himself but he can't do anything about the smell he knows is lingering around the room. “I've been off planet, actually, thanks for asking about my well being,” he retorts dryly. “Once I left there wasn't a good way to get back. Then I do and what does a certain Oracle tell me? She tells me that you've flown the coop and made a contract with Ra's al Ghul for an obscene amount of money and Bruce's freedom.” 

Sometimes Tim forgets about the part of the contract where Bruce is eventually freed from prison. He hasn't imagined a scenario where Bruce comes pounding on the doors and demanding he return home with him. Now that he actually does think about it he realizes that is, without a doubt, going to happen when Bruce is free. “I did what I had to,” Tim rasps. “I really don't feel good and you just crawled in my window. When can I expect assassins to follow?”

“Never, ideally.” Jason stands up, disappearing for a moment, and returning with a pitcher of fruit juice. It had arrived chilled but that was hours ago. He pours a cup of it and pushes it at Tim, hard enough that a little of the liquid sloshes over the rim. “Drink this. You look like shit and I'm sure if you were all alone for the last few days that you haven't taken yourself.” 

He's right. Tim hates him for knowing him so well. He hates this fog in his head because he can't properly process that Jason has been off planet or that Barbara had not only received a copy of his contract but had been trying to contact him afterward. It's a relief to know Ra's is true to his word about finding messengers. He sips at the juice, hoping the sugar and calories will revive him a little. At least enough to argue with Jason is all he's asking for. 

“I've been on the road for a while so I'd like to crash here if you don't mind,” the man continues. “When do people come in? Do they come in?”

“Not when I'm in heat,” Tim replies. “I can get maybe two days before someone will expect to see me.” Hiding Jason in his room seems like wonderful idea; he doesn't even care how many problems it will cause if they are caught so long as he has company for the time being. The servants are leaving far too much food, even for an omega in heat, and if they can figure out a way to smuggle Jason out when he's ready, all the better. “Why are you here?”

Jason quirks a brow at him. “To rescue you.” 

“I don't need to be rescued. I'm here willingly. Even if I wasn't here willingly, I wouldn't need you to rescue me.” He's close to snarling and he doesn't even care he's giving into basic instincts. An unfulfilled heat is enough to make most omegas crabby for a few days and he's not even technically out of heat. 

The dark-haired man settles nearby. He has a cup of water and a few crackers that he pushes toward Tim while he starts to eat an energy bar. “You are living with Ra's al Ghul. You know, the Demon's Head? Damian's grandfather? One of the arch-enemies of the Bat?” Jason's speaking slowly, like he's stupid and Tim narrows his eyes. “Not only are you living with him but you agreed to give him up to five children after you physically grow them inside you.” 

“I needed what he had to offer,” Tim argues. “Do you think anyone else has the resources to rebuild Gotham?”

“I didn't come here to fight with you.” Jason sighs. “Eat something and drink water. I want you to pee at least one time before I put you to bed.” 

Tim grabs the package of crackers and rips into them because even if he's defiant, he's starving. “I'm not a child. I had this entirely handled and I'll pee when I damn well want to.” 

Usually Jason is better at this. Jason understands more about him, more about his biology, than any of the others. Bruce means well but all of his education is from text books and observations. Dick has always firmly decided he'll treat Tim as though he's no different from him at all which has caused a few issues, even if the attempt has been appreciated. Damian had tried to bite him and cow him to submission exactly once before Tim dislocated his shoulder and left him a bleeding pile in the library. He's not proud he did it, but Damian never tried it again. 

“Look,” Jason begins, clearly trying again. “I don't want to have this discussion right now. I'm exhausted. You look pretty rough. Let's eat something and go to bed, okay?” He pauses, glancing over at the mostly stripped bed. “Do you want to go to bed or am I allowed in the nest?”

“It's not a nest,” Tim mutters, because it isn't a proper one so that means it doesn't count. He'd just been far more comfortable on the floor than anywhere else. “We can get back on the bed. It's warm enough we don't have to put all the blankets back on it.” He should be more angry at Jason. He should be furious. Instead he's desperate to touch him and to wake up beside another body. He wants to feel Jason's warmth through the night and know he's not alone on this mountain, in this place, and in the world at large. 

His companion begins making up the bed while Tim does a last check of the outer room. He makes certain the dishes from dinner are outside his door, along with a request for a crossword puzzle and a note that the heat is lasting longer than he thought it would. He hopes Ra's doesn't know how long his heat cycles usually take but certainly it's nothing _abnormal_ to have a longer or a shorter heat once in a while. 

He locks the door again, even knowing someone else has a key, and shoves a heavy trunk in front of it once again. He also takes the opportunity to duck into the bathroom and clean himself up somewhat. His hair is a mess and he feels like he needs a shower even if he took one in the morning. He settles for wiping himself down and spraying on something that is probably rosewater and aloe but he likes to use as a body mist. He washes his face and, annoyingly, has to pee before he emerges. 

“Feel better?” Jason asks, entirely smug. 

Tim basically throws himself onto his preferred side of the bed. The other man chuckles as he creeps into the bathroom himself. He's relatively quick cleaning up, and when he gets in bed with Tim he's wearing nothing but a small pair of shorts. 

“Unfair,” he mutters, elbowing the hulking man beside him uncharitably. 

He still falls asleep in his arms. He can't think of the danger. He doesn't want to think of the risk or the reason Jason is here. The important part is that he _is_ and he's not alone for a little while. 

~*~*~

Tim is awake before Jason. He retrieves breakfast and his requested reading, as well as a note asking him to alert a servant if he requires a physician. He leaves the tray and supplies in the sitting room, but indulges in a cup of coffee before taking a proper shower. He gets the feeling he's going to need his wits about him to argue with Jason today. 

The strength of his heat has eased off. He can still feel the uncomfortable sensation somewhere between his belly and his thighs. He's tense and he knows he's irritable, but he can actually function and think like a normal person. He would probably be fine, if a little bit scandalous, going around the compound today. 

Jason eats all of the meat from his breakfast plate, most of the oatmeal, and half of the fruit. Tim is satisfied with eggs and a few grapes so he can hardly complain; at least the food doesn't go to waste this way. He drinks another cup of coffee. Jason brews a cup of tea. They read the newspaper and Tim works out the crossword as the morning passes. 

“I just want you to think,” Jason says at last when, apparently, he can no longer stand the peace between them. 

“I'm an adult,” Tim reminds him. “I thought this out and I know what I'm doing. Some omegas sell themselves for money. Some sign marriage contracts or just bonding contracts for power or prestige or a good name. I never thought I would do it but if it helps Gotham? I'm glad to.” 

He watches a negative shake of dark, white-shot hair. “It's not that, Tim.” He sighs, then amends, “It's not _only_ that. You're intending to get pregnant. That means if you succeed you're bringing at least one more person into this fucked up situation. You're sacrificing a _baby_ who I'm willing to bet didn't sign up for any of this shit.” 

“I'll be there,” he argues instantly. “A lot of babies aren't born into ideal situations. I'll figure something out when it comes down to it. If Ra's has held up his end of everything by then I can-”

“You can what?” Jason demands. “Are you going to live among assassins forever? Are you going to be his mate in order to raise your own children? He'll never let you go and he especially won't let you go with his child. If you run away even after he's done his part of your contract do you think he won't burn the city right back down?”

Tim's thought on it, but admittedly not that far. He knows there should be a plan in place but there had been so few options and he'd been so _desperate_ to get help for Bruce and Gotham. “If he won't let me go or if he's not a good father, I'll kill him.” 

Jason's eyes widen a fraction. “You have Talia as proof he's not great at parenting and, seriously? Your master plan is that he does what you want or you kill him? How long have you been here, Tim? How much time have you spent here that you think that's a viable action?”

“You kill people,” he argues fiercely even though he knew, as soon as the words left his mouth, that it was insane. “If you can do it then I can. It would be a last resort. He hasn't been cruel to me. He says I can dissolve the contract anytime.” 

“A baby, Tim,” he repeats softly. “A real, life, human baby. One that is half you and half him. One that you carry for nine months and give birth to. You're going to leave it under his care? You're going to tie yourself here to make sure he doesn't fuck it up like he fucked up Damian? That's surprisingly selfish, even for you.” 

It cuts something deep down in him. He _knows_ he's single-minded and admittedly selfish when it comes to an end goal. He hates it, but it hasn't changed anything in him. Someone has to be willing what no one else will do and he is that sacrifice. 

The other man is looking at him but his expression isn't one of contempt. “You can't come out ahead. Your plan is crazy and that's saying something, coming from someone like me. This plan is nothing but self-destructive.” 

Tim's also known that since the beginning. When it was a half-formed, hair-brained seed floating around his brain he'd known that there was no hope of going back to the way things were. Bruce would be free. Gotham would survive. His family would be safe. 

But Tim could never go back to where he was. He would live with Ra's, trying to protect his child, or he would be dead before that child could be delivered. “Gotham,” he says helplessly. “Bruce...” 

“Wouldn't want you to do this,” Jason fills in. “And it's rare he and I agree on anything.” 

He feels adequately shamed. He also feels trapped. It's not a comfortable sensation so he simply shakes his head and walks into his bedroom. There's not a lot of places he can go to get away from Jason so he'll take what space he can get. 

It's at least a couple of hours before the other dares to approach. He wraps his arms around Tim, rubbing his cheek along his hair to scent him. Tim does the same with his face pressed in Jason's throat, because it's not his fault that everything is going to turn out so horribly wrong. “Bruce doesn't know?” Tim murmurs at last. 

He can feel Jason shake his head. “His messages are monitored and Dickface didn't want to risk it. He wanted to come drag you back kicking and screaming but he has a lot of fires to put out and I'm fare more mobile and experienced at hostage extraction.” 

“Not a hostage,” he mutters against a clavicle. 

“You're holding yourself hostage, kind of. I'm just here to make sure you have an out. I doubt I can keep myself hidden here longer than a few more days, but I can come back if you want to wrap things up here.” 

It's so nice to be pressed against someone again. It's nice to have human contact. He'd forgotten sometime in the past year that he loved Jason. Maybe he'd purposefully done it. “What if I don't want to go?”

“You're still small enough to fit in a sack and literally carry out like a corpse.” Even those threatening words sound affectionate. 

He's still entirely conflicted and he hates it. He should be able to research everything and have a clear path in mind. He should have a plan and a backup plan and a contingency plan and all of them should be fully functional. They're not. He's floundering and he desperately doesn't want to admit it but Jason's arriving like a knight in shining armor to call him on his bullshit. “Gotham needs help,” he whispers at last because surely, _surely_ Jason realizes that. 

Jason hums in reply and kisses the top of his head again. “I hate to break it to you but the world needs help. Ra's could prop Gotham up for a while but it would sink if nothing is done on a wider scale. It hit Gotham the fastest because it already had a pretty high rate of poverty. But you know what it also has? Us.” 

It's oddly optimistic coming from Jason. It sounds like the type of inspiring speech that Dick would try to give. Never the less, Tim appreciates the effort. “I never even wanted kids,” he confides, as off topic as it feels. “I thought if I didn't want them then it wouldn't matter to just have one and give it away if it was safe.” 

There's a snort as the man sinks onto the bed, pulling Tim with him and putting him on his lap. It would feel degrading with some people, but Jason simply makes him feel protected like this. “I don't blame you. Kids are messy nightmares at best. You know I'm also one to deny omega biology to a fault but you're a good person so I have to assume you'd be a good parent. You'd love that kid no matter what the other half of it was and you'd be in for a world of pain when you had to change your plans to account for it.” 

Maybe Jason's right. He's certainly been around more children than Tim ever has. “Gotham still needs a plan,” Tim reminds him. 

“Judging by the stuff that was locked in your desk I think you've been training to do exactly that.” He huffs a bit. “You know what's unfair? I can't make you smell like me all over. I have to send you back to the crazy, immortal, ruler of the assassins so you can politely tell him you won't have his babies.”

“Life is weird sometimes,” Tim agrees. “Really, really weird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop comments/questions/prompts below or on tumblr! Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes a decision. Ra's is suspiciously reasonable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I write this chapter, I question, because literally nothing happens. 
> 
> Four more chapters and an epilogue left. I might start posting them faster as they are in shorter segments. Let me know what you think if you have strong preferences!
> 
> Not happy with the way the fic is headed? The Alternate Universe (of this alternate universe) deviates right after this chapter, is as long as the fic has been thus far, and will be posted after the conclusion!

He waits until after Jason is gone, to tell Ra's. Jason agrees to be back in two weeks and that's that. Tim's surprised at how it all ends with a whimper instead of a bang. 

At least, between the two of them. It might go worse with Ra's and Tim decides to tell him a couple of days before his departure. He and Jason have contingency plans, as well, if Ra's refuses to let him go. Ultimately there will probably be very little they can do, but at least someone will know what happened to him. 

Parting from the other man is much more difficult than it should be. Tim spends the morning of his departure wrapped around him like a human backpack. He makes certain Jason's pack is adequately prepared and resists the urge to beg him to stay. If all goes well he'll be with him soon enough and their time won't be so limited. 

Jason kisses him before he goes. It makes Tim burn pleasantly down to the soles of his feet and he's almost tempted to drag him back to bed. Instead he leaves his room for the first time in nearly a week, hoping against hope they he won't hear an alarm raised while Jason makes a mistake. 

Dinner with Ra's is a good distraction for the old man, if not for Tim. He's ravenous, as he usually is after a heat, so at least a good deal of conversation is forgone because his mouth is too full to speak politely. “Are you feeling well?” Ra's inquires politely though he'd insisted Tim could spare him any vulgarities. 

“Much better,” he agrees. “I believe everything should be back on schedule now and I didn't suffer overly much. It was only over an extended period.”

“How unfortunate you were out of commission for so long. I am, at the least, fortunate to have you back.” Ra's gestures for a servant to pour wine. 

They spend the rest of the meal in relative silence. Tim's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious. Ra's certainly seems not to hold the lack of conversation against him; If anything the other man seems more preoccupied than Tim himself. He eats methodically and with a purpose and, instead of the usual couple of hours it takes them to finish dinner, they are done in under one. 

He's not completely done eating when Ra's rises, but he knows to get to his feet anyway. “Would you take a walk, Timothy? Unless you have determined to get back to your exercise method of running through the place so quickly.” 

Even the thought of running for that long with how full his stomach is makes him a little nauseated. “A walk would be nice.” Compared to the alternatives, anyway. 

Ra's doesn't offer his arm and it puts him a bit on edge. He should appreciate the fact dinner passed quickly and that Ra's was largely quite through it. He should be glad that there was more than enough time for Jason to be safely away and no alarms were raised. Instead, Tim feels like he's walking on eggshells mixed with broken glass; he has to be careful not to be cut worse. 

“We are behind schedule on the aquatic farming venture,” Ra's informs him once they are trailing through the man's private garden. There's a koi pond in the corner and Tim's found a surprising amount of pleasure in feeding and interacting with the fish there. When things settle in Gotham, he's definitely installing one on the grounds of the Manor and fighting Damian if he thinks he'll be in charge of the fish. “The other locations for crops were plowed and fertilized in your absence. I believe the position of new energy farms needs you to attend to it and your input was requested on a few other projects.” 

It's not what Tim was expecting. “Oh?” He tries not to guide them in any particular direction while also keeping pace with his companion. “I can look at all of that starting in the morning. Tonight, even, if that would help. What's the highest priority?” He can't know without having all the projects and their statuses laid out before him. 

Ra's stops. His hand extends to rest on Tim's forearm and he pauses as well. “Do you not feel wasted, Timothy?”

“I'm busier than I've been in a while, actually,” he answers with a shrug like he can physically brush off the awkwardness of this situation. 

“You are an omega,” the man says as though that hasn't been drilled into him from his earliest memory of manifesting. “No matter the strides you make as a person, the world views you as a _vessel_. You may wear a cape and seek to make the world a better place and you may lead your company to victory and your city to safety but ultimately will you ever be a match for the Detective? Will you ever gain the respect of others he naturally has and the success he has achieved due to it?”

It hits frighteningly close to home because he's often wondered the same things. He might have been born wealthy, but he wasn't born with all the advantages of Bruce Wayne or any other prevalent alpha. Tim had to work at least twice as hard as Dick to become Robin. He'd had to claw his way to having people at Wayne Enterprises believe he was there on his own merit rather than because Bruce was a progressive who wanted an omega on the board for the political statement it made. “That's how things are,” he says simply. “What point are you making, Ra's?”

The Demon's Head smirks. “You are quite brilliant, Timothy. Your mind works in remarkable ways and is, by far, worth more than your ability to carry young, yet that is what is most valued. I did not expect how well you would fit into the running of this compound.” 

Neither had Tim. “I like to stay busy,” he answers, knowing he is evading the larger issue. It's not a secret Ra's has been interested in him but being so openly complimented by him is a bit strange. “Though I note that you value me for the traditional aspects of an omega.” 

“In the hopes my heir will contain your brilliance in an alpha body,” he agrees, not even trying to deny it. 

They begin to walk again. “Speaking of,” Tim says, hesitating only slightly. “How does the line of succession go? Are there going to be relatives emerging from the woodwork to claim a position? Surely in however many centuries you've been alive there's a dynasty.” 

Tim's always been curious about it, honestly. Bruce's file on Ra's al Ghul and his children seems incomplete. “Talia is my sole living child,” the man replies. “Of course her son is unworthy and no longer being considered.” 

“You had other children,” Tim prompts. The man himself has admitted it in previous encounters; it can't be that he thought it to be a secret. “They don't have descendants?”

Ra's's smile isn't as jarring as he once thought it was. They've made it to the fish pond and he glances down at their bodies, shimmering beneath the water. “Most had no living issue, Timothy. It is rather difficult to have descendants when your children failed to procreate, with only few exceptions.” 

He thinks of Damian, which he hasn't done very often. He misses Jason, and he misses Dick, and Damian is some afterthought because he loves his would-be brother but they haven't been around one another enough without animosity to completely heal. He doesn't want anything bad to happen to the kid, however, and being declared heir to the League is certainly bad. “Do you have a lineage chart? A family tree?”

He glances at him. “I have memoirs and perhaps a chart I have drawn up for them. Why?”

Why, indeed? Tim isn't even certain. “I just find it interesting. It might be something to read in my leisure time.” 

Ra's shakes his head. “Of course. I will have a copy sent with your other documents.” 

They finish their walk, discussing this project and that, and Tim can feel curiosity chewing at his mind in a way it hasn't in quite some time. 

~*~*~

The aquatic garden is behind schedule, due to an inefficient pump. Tim decides to add in some fish (probably tilapia) to provide fertilization and keep the upper tanks somewhat cleaner. He can do only rudimentary research on what pump to replace the current one with; he'll have to rely on someone with more specialized knowledge and more access to the information. 

He solves other problems just as easily and, he's surprised to realize, he will miss this part of being in the compound most of all. He enjoys feeling useful. Probably, the assassins and servants alike gossip behind his back. Maybe Ra's's workers dislike having an omega give them instructions. However, he's never made to feel that way. He feels clever and useful and it's a refreshing change from Gotham where he had felt so limited and useless as the world crumbled around him. It's better people are honest to his face, he knows, and then he can work to overcome their prejudices rather than hiding behind an alpha's belief in him and the relative solitude of his own quarters. 

Still, he contemplates creating an alpha persona to carry out his bidding in Gotham. He wonders if it would be more effective. Surely, it would have to be; he spends far too much time proving to others that he's capable instead of simply being taken at his word. 

Time is ticking down until his rendezvous with Jason and he has a hundred little mysteries to solve. Ra's provides him with (typed) memoirs and a family tree. The family tree is incomplete and a bit puzzling, but providing Ra's's parents had to have lives thousands of years ago, Tim is understanding that memory of one's ancestors is a fickle thing. He can barely even name his own great grandparents and that was a hundred years ago. 

He wishes he still had access to Bruce's computer, but Ra's own records seem to confirm what he remembers; Ra's hasn't had many children through the years he's been alive, and those children didn't go on to produce children other than Damian, who was born artificially. 

He has hardly any time to devote to his study of the man's life or achievements; he's kept busy with the present. Some plans he steals for implementation in Gotham. Others he works much harder on to leave them with at least a year's worth of activities. He doesn't want the people here to suffer simply because he abandons projects only partly through. They hardly deserve that. Perhaps his new life goal will be making certain no one else suffers because of him, though that will be a very difficult promise to keep. 

Taking up running again is something that allows him to feel he is helping himself; he doesn't want to be a burden to Jason if they end up literally running for their lives. He imagines his reunion with Dick and Damian. He wonders if he'll ever tell Bruce the entire story and he dreams of Alfred's cooking. It's strange, how much Gotham has to offer, when Tim knows it is in such a struggling state. There will be other ways to make it great again. 

Tim does spend a good deal of time wracking his brain for things to offer Ra's instead of an heir. He feels destitute and a bit ashamed after his discussion with Jason but he hasn't quite given up the idea of receiving money and supplies from Ra's. Jason's pointed out time and time again that he and Bruce think money can solve everything because they've always had it; maybe it's a bit true but there's no end to Tim's plans for Gotham if he had the capital to prop it up.

Again, he makes a list. He lists what he is willing to sacrifice from Ra's's side of the arrangement and he lists what he has to offer. It's precious little, but at least now he has more of an idea of things he would be interested in and which projects will need extra planning and care. Surely he can consult from far away. He could even visit to oversee progress, if necessary. He knows he's scraping the bottom barrel of his skills when he realizes he could make an offer to send Ra's's memoirs on to a publisher he knows. 

It will be good to be home. It doesn't mean he won't miss the freedom he's found here, or the appreciation. Ra's has been an excellent, civil host and Tim can't shake the feeling he's somehow betraying him even if it was clearly outlined in his contract that he could leave at any time providing he wasn't taking the next heir to the League with him. 

If he barely socializes, he can't be blamed. There's a lot of work to be done to prepare the compound to continue on without him until they find another architect for their projects. There's more work to be done for Gotham, so that Tim can hit the ground running when he arrives. 

Two weeks is going to go by much faster than he anticipated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim fesses up to Ra's. Ra's takes things surprisingly well (didn't this happen last time?) and they meet for a last dinner together. It's all going so well, isn't it?
> 
> ISN'T IT?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ominous music plays in the background*

Armed with binders of their current projects, future plans, and failsafes should anything go wrong with them and someone needs to troubleshoot, Tim decides that five days is enough time to give Ra's to deal with his departure and yet not jeopardize being able to leave. 

Just in case, he packs the same bag he did when he arrived. It contains essentials, and those things precious to him. His trunks are secured as well but he gives up on ever seeing the contents of them again; he doubts Ra's will want to send a messenger with the rest of his luggage. Even so, Tim left more in Gotham, and he's more than used to losing material objects. 

He's stowed away food and water bottles as well as other provisions. If Jason is risking so much in order to bring him back to Gotham he's going to be more of a help than a hindrance. He'll provide supplies and he'll keep up, though he knows the other man would never hold it against him If he arrived with nothing and demanded on being carried. Jason would probably do his best to carry him, too, even if it meant being killed or captured in the process. 

Tim requests a meeting with Ra's, because ambushing him at dinner seems both cowardly and as though Ra's would be less inclined to give him anything he wants. 

They meet in his office, which is a surprisingly well-decorated place. Tim would even find it comfortable if he didn't know to whom it belonged. It brings to mind the mahogany paneling of Bruce's study, and the way he's always felt so small when he goes into that room. But this one is far more threatening and admittedly more refined to particular tastes. 

“Timothy,” the taller (so tall, almost a foot taller than him) man greets. 

“Ra's,” he counters politely and imagines himself in a board room because he knows what moves to make there. “I would like to alter our contract and if we can not come to a mutually acceptable agreement then I would like to dissolve the contract.” 

To his credit, Ra's doesn't bat an eyelash. “Are you unhappy here?” He questions. 

“It's not that,” Tim replies, and he's not simply humoring the man. “I've enjoyed my time here. It's simply come to my attention that I offered more than I am willing to give. I can bargain with my life, Ra's. I can't bargain with the life of a party who hasn't given their consent. I can't create that life knowing that it was simply for my own gain.” 

“As well as the gain of your city,” Ra's reminds him. “Have you forgotten the goals you had?”

“No,” he admits. “That's what makes this difficult to do. But I can't bring a child into this world, Ra's. It's not simply because I don't want to but because it isn't fair to that life. If I believe any of Bruce's philosophies it's that children are innocent and you should avoid putting them in less than ideal situations if at all possible.” Actually, that's probably more Jason's department but Ra's has some measure of respect for Batman and far less for Red Hood. “The same limits as before apply, with the caveat that I can't provide you with an heir. I can't take a life and I won't create one.” 

He expects at least some measure of rage, but receives none. Ra's is quiet, pondering the tea he had the servants bring before their meeting began. “What can you offer me, then, Timothy?”

“I have my mind,” he says simply. “I need to go home for the time being, but when Gotham is more stable I would be willing to return and assist with what you would like me to.” He glances down to his carefully prepared list. “I can offer you the fact that we would be allies. We could-” It all sounds so insignificant. Tim slides him the finalized copy of the list he made, because he has no more hands to play. 

Ra's reads over the list of what he most wants and what he can give away. “Your blood?” He inquires, arching a brow. “Truly, what do you believe I would do with your blood?”

Tim shrugs helplessly. “I know you've done some biological research. Maybe you just have a collection.” 

“I assure you I do not have a collection of blood, hair, or skin cell samples from any of you or your family.” 

It's a bit of a relief to know but it also means there's nothing nearly worthwhile that Tim can offer him. He knows when he's beaten. He will just have to find another way to help his city in her hour of need. “I'm sorry,” he says and it's genuine and surprisingly heartfelt. “I wish I could go through with it but I can't put a kid through that.” 

The man's fingers stroke over his beard. “Is a life with me truly such a horror that you felt compelled to protect a child from it? Do you feel your child would be mistreated?”

“No,” Tim replies instantly. “Though if a coup was staged, those rebelling would go after your heir first. However, it's more about choices. I don't want children, Ra's, but if I had them then I would want them to have every choice possible. Already you would lock one into a role for the rest of his life if he was the right sex.”

“Were you and the other Robins given choices?” He questions. 

Tim tries to drink his coffee and celebrate the small victory that it hasn't been thrown in his face or lost in a scuffle as Ra's tried to strangle him. “We were given more choices than that potential child would be and none of us are shining beacons of functionality.” Damian was probably the worst off, actually, but he doesn't want to rub salt in any wounds. “I am truly sorry. You've been very hospitable to me and I have enjoyed my time here. I would hate for you to believe it was under false pretenses.” 

Ra's shakes his head. “You have your own mind, Timothy, and I would ask for it did you not require it to go on living. I will dissolve our contract on the condition that, should you change your mind on producing children, you will come to me so that I might attempt to persuade you to combine our genetics.” 

He's taking it remarkably well. Tim wants to write it off to his superior negotiating skills. “I doubt I'll ever have kids, but I can let you know.” It seems easy enough to agree to, when he never wants children in the first place. 

“When are you leaving?”

“I was thinking five days,” he replies casually. “The moon will be full and it seems like enough time without overstaying my welcome.” There's no reason Ra's has to know that a man who is the closest thing he has to a lover is waiting out there for him, come to fetch his wayward ass back to Gotham. “I'll make my way. I wouldn't want to take any more advantage of you than I already have.” 

Ra's stands, so Tim does as well, because surely dinner rules apply to business meetings. Ra's rests one large hand on his shoulder and leans forward. The kiss he bestows on his face is dry and strange; it's like touching a snake. “I wish you every happiness, Timothy. I also wish you the best of luck. I fear you shall need it with your city burning to the ground around you and not a bucket of sand to be found.” 

Of course he would have to get a parting barb in, and Tim feels he pretty much deserves it. “Thank you, Ra's. I've prepared documents for you and your people. Every project I am working on has been planned for the next two years. I also added a troubleshooting section should anything go wrong and I'm certain you'll find ways to reach me, otherwise.” For good or for ill. He's opening a door and he might want it shut some day. 

“How gracious of you.” 

“Well,” Tim says. “I need to prove I'm not just a simple vessel or another pretty face.” 

~*~*~

With no panicked escape needed from the compound, Tim finds himself at a loss for what to do. He still has dinners with Ra's, for companionship and lack of anything better to do. 

He can create designs for Gotham but he can't imagine how well they work until he's back on the ground, assessing the state the city's in. He can hardly arrange transit and other than writing a brief note to Dick that he's on his way home, there's no one else to alert. He's made a few casual acquaintances here but no true friends, and even those he was friendly with scowl at him when he walks past. Word travels quickly, it would seem. 

He leaves on a Wednesday. He stares out the window, mapping his path and trying to memorize landmarks beforehand, in case he gets lost. He and Jason have worked out a few alternate plans should one of them not arrive at the rendezvous points, but he wants to minimize the risk of anything going wrong and a few days of study from various windows of the compound should be quite useful. 

Joining Ra's for dinner that night has a kind of bittersweet tone to it. The man looks harried and exhausted. “Mondays, huh?” Tim jokes as he sits down just in time for the soup course to be served. 

Ra's stares at him. 

“People make jokes about Mondays being a struggle because it's after the weekend in a five day work week,” Tim supplies. “Garfield also hates them despite the fact he doesn't work.” 

“I am well aware of the vernacular,” he replies dryly. “I am not so decrepit or secluded that I am unaware of all pop culture references. However, since we do not operate on a five day work week, I was uncertain if Monday factored into this conversation in another way.” 

Tim was waiting for the short temper to begin. “It's a Monday today,” he reminds him like that's the solution to this joke being accepted and appreciated. “Nevermind. Is there anything I can help with?”

“How kind of you to offer when if I assigned you a task, you would abandon it in the dust in short order,” Ra's replies. “Truly, Timothy, enjoy yourself. You have fulfilled more than enough work to offset your room and board while you were here if not enough to soothe my disappointment.” 

He should be proud he disappointed Ra's al Ghul instead of slightly embarrassed. “Gotham needs me.” 

“I realize. Gotham was your entire reason for agreeing to the contract, was it not?” Ra's continues to eat. “Please. Enjoy your meal. I doubt you will have any such food while you are making your way back to your home.” 

That's true enough. Tim's been well fed while he's here. Most of it couldn't hold a candle to Alfred's cooking but it's definitely better than what he tends to eat when left to his own devices. 

They chat idly as they eat, instead of debating about various projects going on in the compound. Tim asks a few questions about Ra's's memoirs, passing questions he'd had about the locations of particular events. Of course the man is well-traveled; it just isn't usually through countries and time. “Love doesn't seem to factor into a lot of your decisions,” he notes. 

Ra's spins the stem of a wine glass between two fingers in a gesture Tim is certain he would miserably fail at if he were to try to imitate it. “Does love factor into yours? Do you have an alpha you are running home to be with?”

It makes Tim snort, halfway to a laugh. “No. I also don't put much stock in someone being an alpha for it to be love. I see people as people.” 

“I've only ever been attracted to omegas. Would you condemn me my preference when not even a beta has drawn a reaction from me?” Ra's questions. 

He shakes his head. “Of course not. We all have preferences and as long as you're not depriving someone else of theirs it shouldn't be an issue.” He pauses. “Seriously, though? Only omegas? How many?”

“You're curious suddenly.” He sips from his wine glass. “It takes quite a lot to catch my attention so I took very few as a wife or a mate. There were more liaisons though some of them I hardly remember.” He smirks again. “Now tell me, Timothy, how many lovers have you taken? I would say alphas but you more or less admitted you go for any sex.” 

Somehow, this is more personal than anything they've discussed before, which is strange considering they've discussed both his heat and how Tim would bear him children. “There have been enough to know I like a variety of sexes,” Tim replies. “It's not some rebellion against nature that I don't swoon at alphas. I've heard that a lot.” He's heard he'll grow out of it or that he'll see the natural order of things when it becomes time for him to settle down.

“I would not suggest such. Some are simply born as other to society. Why should anything about one as significant as you be mundane?” The dishes are replaced once again. It's time for dessert and Tim is feeling sluggish; he shouldn't have eaten so much of the main course on top of the soup. Dessert is a kind of rice pudding that Tim is relieved to shovel down because even chewing feels like it will take a lot of energy. “Your medical records are quite clean. Did you falsify any of them?”

“Um.” Tim frowns, trying to decide why Ra's would like to know as well as what danger there would be in telling him. “Only parts about broken bones and concussions and things I got as Red Robin. I'm fully vaccinated and fairly healthy. My genetic profile wasn't altered.” It more or less identifies him as an omega and the child of two betas. It's hardly anything to hide that he doesn't have any genetic flaws to speak of. 

Ra's seems like he's moving even more slowly, but that can't be right. “How interesting. Are you enjoying your dessert?”

He has some of the food in his mouth and he swallows, clearing out the texture with a gulp of water. His tongue feels numb. “It's very good,” he responds automatically. “I'm actually not feeling well, Ra's. Would you mind if I excuse myself?”

Concern instantly falls over those dark features. “Of course. Do you need an escort back to your room?”

Tim stands, taking a moment to get his feet. He feels alternately hot and sick. Great. A virus is exactly what he needs when he's about to stress his body to the breaking point to get back to Gotham. “No, I can make it.” 

“I'll send someone to check on you later,” Ra's offers. 

Tim makes some noise that he hopes is affirmation he heard him, because he doesn't have the strength to argue. He keeps a hand against the cool stone walls as he makes his way back to his rooms. 

His stomach is cramping and he feels flushed and swollen like he does in the early stages of heat. He hasn't taken birth control or suppressants since his last heat; perhaps this is his body's last hurrah as it purges all the artificial hormones. That doesn't explain the way his head spins or the fact that he's desperately trying to keep dinner in his stomach instead of plummeting through his intestines or rising up his esophagus. 

The coolness of his bedsheets is a welcome reprieve. He expects a night of misery, but his body feels too heavy to even drag himself to the bathroom. He just needs rest, he tells himself, and he'll be better in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews always appreciated! Prompts and questions too. Thanks for reading thus far.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim suffers from a bout of illness, but is on the mend. He better be; nothing can waylay his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm going to try to post the next chapter early," I say and immediately post the next chapter late. 
> 
> This chapter contains non-graphic medical procedures, non consensual medical procedures, and delirium/questioning of reality. "He finds himself back in his bedroom" is the place to pick up this chapter if you want to avoid these things.

He's half-awake as Bruce lifts him into his arms. “How'd the movie end?” Tim slurs. He remembers something about a cowboy and a ninja becoming partners to defeat a monster, but he'd dozed off probably before even the halfway point of the film. 

It's rare they watch anything together. Tim, however, can't be blamed if they decided to do so on the heels of a marathon of cases that kept him awake night and day. 

Bruce soothes him lightly. “I'll tell you in the morning. Go back to sleep.” 

Sleep. Sleep sounds nice. 

Except he can't. Bruce's hold on him is rougher. Is he going up the stairs? It's bumpy and jostling and not at all conducive to sleep. He frowns, shifting to get comfortable against his father's chest. 

Everything smells weird and wrong. It doesn't smell like family or the alpha he expects. He rolls again, trying to settle again, and flails wildly when he feels as though he's falling. 

He wakes up on a concrete floor. The floor of his bedroom is definitely not concrete. Tim scrambles to right himself and open his eyes more fully because none of this is as it should be. His head aches and fatigue is threatening to drag him back under its spell. 

“I told you to secure him! Incompetents!” The voice is familiar and it takes only seconds for Tim to place it as the alpha doctor he'd seen before. Had he gotten sick in the night? Had whoever been sent to check on him by Ra's summoned a doctor?

The room reeks of antiseptic. The lights in it are far too bright. The entire room looks sterile, save the medical equipment all around. It isn't the office he's been in previously. It seems more like a laboratory and he's struck by the terrifying fact that he has no idea where he is or what's happening. 

He's naked, too, he realizes when he scrapes his knees on the concrete as he tries to get up. “What's going on?” He tries, desperately, to sound intimidating or at very least commanding. 

Ra's swims into view, standing just in his line of sight. The man walks forward and Tim is actually _relieved_ for a split second, just before he lifts him up and puts him back on the bed he fell from. 

_Not a bed_ , Tim realizes. _A surgical gurney_. He's been on enough of them through his life to know. He flails, but not fast enough, as a cuff comes around his wrist and secures his arm to the surgical table. 

“You are ill, Timothy,” Ra's soothes but his voice is like poison. “Do not fight it. We will have you comfortable again shortly and take very good care of you as you recover.” His tall frame turns and Tim can hear the rage in his voice, now. “You told me he was properly sedated! You were warned that his tolerance would be abnormally high!” 

His vision is fading in and out. He pulls at the cuffs around his wrists, wondering how much effort it would take to dislocate his thumb. If only he could _focus_ then he could figure out this situation. If only he could _think_ then he could escape.

A nearby omega woman tosses a blanket over him and her expression is worried even if her face is kind. He feels sick, is the most insane part. Ra's isn't lying to him about being ill because he definitely feels even worse than he did when he staggered into his room. 

Why, then, would he need to be sedated? 

The alpha doctor jerks the table he's lying on and the world spins dangerously again even for how little it moves. He peers down to see metal poles extending from the base of the gurney and the omega rushing to set them up and secure them at an angle. 

He's paying too much attention to her. He doesn't even notice another man, dressed in scrubs, has come up beside him until he feels the stab of a needle in the back of the hand. It's a thick needle, with a cap on the end. It's an _IV port_ and Tim panics automatically because no one needs immediate access to his veins in anything but a medical emergency. 

“Stop,” he says. “Ra's. Stop.” 

Ra's al Ghul puts a hand on his forehead. It feels oddly cool. “Rest, Timothy. You will feel much better when you wake again.” 

He feels the rush of something in his bloodstream. The world is in pieces after that. 

He sees his bare knees, bent at an unnatural angle, fastened to those metal poles. 

He smells blood and singed flesh. 

He coughs and gags at something lodged in his throat, eyes opening to slits to see the face of the omega (nurse?) hovering near him. Behind her is an odd glow that reminds him of being underwater in a well-lit dive tank. “You did well,” she whispers to him, voice so soft he can barely hear it. “You will recover completely. The Master made certain no damage was done.” 

Tim wants to ask questions about damage and what happened. His tongue won't work and his throat feels like sandpaper was rubbed against it. The noise he makes is confused and pitiful. He hasn't been this sick in literal _years_. 

This time when sleep claims him, it's a mercy. 

~*~*~

He finds himself back in his bedroom as of late afternoon. Ra's al Ghul is sitting in the arm chair Tim's been using mostly for clothing. He is casually reading what appears to be a novel and everything feels so calm but at the same time bizarre. 

“How are you?” Ra's asks. “You gave us quite the scare. Your fever was out of control and we feared you would have a seizure and risk brain damage.” 

Is that what happened? Tim feels sore all over. He gropes for a cup beside the bed and grimaces, because the grape juice burns his throat, but drinks it all down anyway. “I was somewhere else.” 

He doesn't deny it. “We took you to the surgical clinic in case further measures were needed. Fortunately you responded well to intravenous antibiotics. You were having quite vivid hallucinations. I was quite concerned you would injure yourself.” 

Tim's head aches, but he's well aware of the effects of sedatives. He knows they remain in your bloodstream for quite a while, which is probably what he's experiencing. “I had an infection?”

Ra's is so tall, looming over his bed. “It would appear so, as you responded to antibiotics, though we're not certain as to where. You should stay in bed for at least another twelve hours and then the doctor suggests only light movement.” 

Twelve hours. “What time is it?” He frowns. “What day is it?”

His captor is indulgent. “Tuesday and nearly tea time.” That puts it at, Tim thinks, around four in the afternoon. Twelve hours later would be four in the morning on Wednesday. He's supposed to meet Jason that night. Surely twenty four hours will be enough time to shake this drug haze. “Would you like me to send a servant for anything?”

Tim has a momentary bit of panic that Ra's has been in his room unsupervised, but he hasn't been stupid enough to leave anything incriminating visible. He doesn't even _have_ anything ridiculously incriminating. Only his plans for Gotham could even be scrutinized with a critical eye and they aren't anything illegal. “No. I...yes. Some water?” That's important to flush the drugs from his system and keep himself well-hydrated. 

Ra's rises, retrieves another pitcher, and pours some water into his cup. It's tinted slightly purple from the grape juice that had been in the cup but Tim drinks it as well and holds out the cup for more. His arms are shaking a little and his shoulders ache. “Are you sure I didn't have a seizure? I hurt.” 

“Your muscles were quite tense. I'm certain you are still feeling residual effects.” He looks around the room, gaze landing on the suitcases Tim has packed. “Would you like me to send word to whomever you made arrangements with that you will not be meeting them tomorrow? I imagine a plane would not hold itself waiting for you to arrive but some forethought is typically appreciated by smugglers.” 

_He doesn't know about Jason._ Tim is sure of it and relieved by it, because this is a blatant attempt at fishing for information. “I was going to make plans at the airfield,” he replies. He drinks another cup of water and lounges backward, feeling spent. “I think I'm going to nap a little more. Would you mind handing me the book I was reading?” He should get it himself, out of pride, but even the thought of being completely upright is horrifying to him at the moment. “You don't have to stay with me. I'm sure you have much better things to do.” 

“I've brought some of them with me. Perhaps we can work together,” Ra's replies with enough cheer that it has to be fake. 

Ra's works on his documents. Tim reads until he passes out again. 

Waking up is going to be something he does way too many times a day now, he decides, the next time he's coherent. His room is nearly silent and it's completely dark outside. He desperately has to pee. With a slightly agonized groan he swings his legs out of bed, trying to evaluate where he hurts as he shuffles to the bathroom. He has to grip furniture as he goes. 

His hand is bruised from a needle. His legs are weak and shaky. His belly hurts. It's definitely tender and distended but that's possibly from not eating in who knows how long. It hurts as well to take a piss and there's blood on the inside of his thighs, crusted there, and claw marks on his skin that appear to have come from his own fingernails. 

He cleans up as quickly as he can without getting in the shower, intending to put on some fresh clothes. That is, before he sees a tray of food left on the low table in his sitting room. He more or less devours the soup and pieces of bread, kneeling completely naked beside the dishware. He'd be ashamed if anyone could see him but for the time being he needs nutrition and hydration if he has any prayer of meeting Jason what has to be less than twenty-four hours from now. 

Fresh clothes make him feel somewhat human. He walks a few laps around his room, then tries to jog them. Instantly, pain tears through his abdomen. Tim can barely contain the cry that threatens to come out of his mouth, panting desperately as everything normalizes again. Something isn't right, but he has to push it out of his thoughts for the time being. 

He goes back to bed. Rest is going to be important to healing as well and he won't be getting much of it on his way back to Gotham. He reaches down, just once, but his stomach is still too tender to press much on. He has to settle for the fact there are no injuries to it that he can feel. 

He can't rest without knowing everything is prepared. He flips on the bedside light once again, kneeling by his pack to make certain Ra's hasn't tampered with it. Tim unpacks it, catalogs the items, and packs it again. He makes certain there's enough food and as much water as he can comfortably carry. He puts his notebooks and planning journals inside as well, with the few treasures he carried here from Gotham and refuses to lose. 

There's a good deal of the unknown to this. Tim doesn't like guessing. He doesn't like running wild without any sort of plan of action. He's relying on Jason to guide him. He's relying on Jason to meet him, and to take care of them both, and help him find transportation. It's strange, after so long, to be able to depend on another person. 

Jason would make so much fun of him for the fond thoughts he has of the man. 

His feelings for Jason are something else to analyze far later, when they are both safe and ideally in Gotham. 

He hears the lock of his sitting room door click and slides back into bed nearly silently, grabbing for the long-abandoned novel he has nearby. He lowers his eyelids and blinks sleepily at the doorway as the looming frame of Ra's al Ghul appears. “I see you have eaten. Excellent, Timothy. You're certainly recovering well.” 

“Yeah,” Tim agrees and doesn't point out how bizarre it is that the man himself has come to check on him instead of sending a servant. “I was about to go back to sleep, though. I get tired so easily.” 

“Of course,” Ra's agrees, but he hesitates in the doorway. “Satisfy my curiosity, Timothy. If you were to have my heir, would you be hoping for a male or female?”

He wants to say he'd be hoping for a male alpha, obviously, because then he'd only have to do it once. Instead he shrugs. “I've never thought about it.” He's honest to a fault, there. “I don't control it so it never occurred to me to have a preference.” Little alarms, honed from years of being at Batman's side, feel like they are going off throughout his tired body. He doesn't show the fear, or how awkward he thinks this conversation is. “Is that all?”

“Goodnight,” Ra's replies instead. Tim waits until he hears the man leave his sitting room before he even starts breathing again. 

He doesn't sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the reviews and comments and prompts! If it suits you, add more below or on tumblr.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim sets off to meet with Jason, but he's not feeling his best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through the downward spiral of this story, haha. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include Tim in pain, bleeding, and walking a lot.

Tim waits until he's certain Ra's is otherwise occupied before he makes his way to the kitchen. It's a sub-kitchen, really, where food is sorted and dished out to the inhabitants rather than where the food is actually made. It would be far safer to obtain food from the main kitchen, but there would be far more chance of being noticed, beyond the fact he doesn't want to drain himself completely of energy getting there. 

He snags some fruit and bread, as well as a bowl of rice. He's not picky and he doesn't really care who he's stealing it from. Perhaps he's being paranoid in no longer trusting the food Ra's has sent to his room, but an ounce of prevention will make up for the world of consequences he'll be in if he's too sick or exhausted to meet Jason later. 

Ra's keeps a more vegetarian diet, as does the compound, so it's difficult to find animal protein. Tim settles for foods that will keep him full and give him energy; he can start a better diet for healing purposes when he's out of here. 

He disposes of the food he's given, and he makes certain to move slowly and gingerly when he takes a walk around the compound. He really is still sore, but he wants everyone thinking his range of motion is badly limited. Bruce would be proud of his level of paranoia, and the thought warms Tim instead of making him feel like he's losing his grasp on sanity. 

He limps to Ra's's office, seating himself and slumping in the chair as though he can't even keep himself upright. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Tim asks. “I'm going mad simply sitting around but I can't do much else for the time being.” 

Ra's barely glances up from his desk. “You need your rest, Timothy. I'm surprised to see you up and about so soon.” 

“I regret it,” Tim replies. “I much prefer holding still. I just got bored.” 

Ra's isn't a stupid man; that's what makes him so tricky as an enemy. Tim's seen his brilliance multiple times and he hopes he's not going to regret playing his hand at a social ruse instead of simply hiding out for the day. 

Instead, the man pushes a leather-bound book toward him. “I have continued my memoirs. Perhaps that will give you something to occupy yourself with so that you might remain still.” 

“Thank you,” Tim tells him as he drags himself to his feet with great difficulty. He wants to tell him for everything. Ra's has gone cold to him, and he thinks the man might be poisoning him, but he did readily agree to give him millions of dollars and didn't have him beheaded when he dissolved their contract and refused to have his child. Those things are worth thanking someone for, aren't they? “Am I joining you for dinner? I'm not feeling much like eating but I could sit with you.” 

When Ra's shakes his head a negative, Tim's knees nearly buckle under him from relief. He didn't know what he was risking offering to sit through dinner with Ra's. It hadn't been in his plan to begin with and the words had just spilled out of his mouth. “I would much prefer you rest tonight. We can have dinner tomorrow.” 

Tim nods. “Tomorrow, then.” 

The entire way back to his rooms he expects ninjas to burst out of the walls and haul him to the dungeon. He expects Ra's to pursue and say he's changes his mind and insists on dinner tonight, instead. There are a million things that can go wrong. Tim is infamous for tripping at the finish line. Jason is depending on him to be there. He has to get there. 

He reads a little of the next book of Ra's's memoirs, because you never know when insight into your enemy will become an incredibly valuable thing. He double checks his supplies. He verifies the compass he found actually does point the way North. He checks a map to make certain he has a decent sense of direction and landmarks. 

He also naps more than he really cares to. He's exhausted and the paleness of the tissue under his eyes leads him to believe he's also anemic. He doesn't remember losing much blood but there's a great possibility it's also simply illness related. There's not much he can do about it, anyway. 

A shower is heavenly, even if he ends up sitting for most of it. He scrubs his skin until it glows pink. He evaluates himself for injuries and, again, can't find anything. There's no reason for him to still feel so bone-achingly tired and sore like he's been thrown around. He'll consult a doctor once he's in Gotham. It won't be long now.

~*~*~

The day is uneventful. No one visits him, save to clean his quarters and drop off or retrieve dishes, as always. Tim waits until not just nightfall, but moonrise. It's a risk; the full moon gives him plenty of light to see by but it also increases the risk that he'll be caught. 

He feels like a thief in the night. Ra's had agreed to let him go whenever he requested; there should be no reason to sneak away at all. Even so, he'd prefer to avoid conflict and he'd rather no one follow him to see who he's meeting. He doubts Ra's is interested in murdering Jason and keeping him captive with the ability to plausibly deny knowing his whereabouts to whoever might come looking. 

Tim has a backpack, and another bag on his hip. He left a note for Ra's, thanking him for his hospitality and his kindness, complimenting his memoirs, and telling him he hopes there are no ill feelings between them. Of course there will be, but Tim doesn't need to gather more enemies than he needs when he has an entire city to set right. 

It's almost despicably easy to get out of the compound, possibly because the guards are mostly watching for people trying to get inside. Tim dresses as casually as he can manage and pulls a hood over his head, but not so far it would look like he was concealing his face. Servants work around the clock here, and he lowers his head and trudges like one in the middle of some type of mind-numbing drudgery. He even grabs an empty bucket, hauling it in front of him as he slips out a side gate behind a group of women with woven baskets full of vegetables. 

Even the weight of the bucket on top of his bags is enough to have him panting softly. He forces himself to keep his same steady pace. He knows the trails through the fields. He knows which direction he needs to go. His clothing is dark. The way he's moving isn't particularly noticeable. Surely no guard will happen to notice him as he slips from farmland into the surrounding wilderness. He'll cut through some undeveloped agriculture and pick the road up again a few miles away. 

It's a _hike_. Tim has almost forgotten about listening and watching for anyone pursuing him because he can barely think beyond the pounding of his heart and the ache in his gut. He knows his conditioning has weakened from his new lifestyle but he hadn't thought it had degraded to this point. He was doing well even on his runs through the compound. 

There's no way he can run. The ground is uneven and he almost turns his ankle multiple times. He falls off a rock he's trying to climb over and realizes he grossly underestimated the amount of time it would take to be at the rendezvous point. He'd built in some extra time, just in case he was followed or had unexpected company. Apparently his punishment is now to literally walk out of the fortress with no opposition whatsoever only to suffer in the nature surrounding it. 

He reviews every poison he can think of that Ra's would give to him, and what reasons he would have for doing so. He mentally lists bacterial infections that would have given him a high fever and have responded to intravenous antibiotics with no follow ups. Other than Ra's, Tim hasn't seen anyone concerned about his health. The alpha doctor and omega nurse seem to have disappeared all together from anywhere he would have encountered them. He thinks of his most recent diet and what minerals or vitamins he might be lacking that could bring on these symptoms. He even quizzes himself about environmental and radiation poisonings, in case he might have been sensitive to something in his environment. It would take about as long for that to show up. 

Tim knows he's put his health on the back burner. He also knows something is wrong, and he can't devote any mental capacity to what ifs at the moment. Survival has to come first and survival is being safe with Jason. Once he has family there to watch his back he can focus on himself again. 

That is, if they welcome him back. He can only imagine what Damian said about him when he found out who he had made an alliance with and what it involved. He probably deserves more than a vicious tongue lashing, but Tim thinks he'll be happy just to be surrounded by people who are working toward the same end goal as he is. 

None of them are going to require a baby out of him, either. 

It takes hours. Tim had guessed it would take about five hours of walking at a steady pace to reach the place Jason told him about. He had allotted himself seven hours. Fifteen miles in seven hours should be more than a reasonable goal. He's certainly covered far more ground in far less time and he's done it with heavier gear. 

He's not certain he's ever done it in worse condition. He's been fortunate to not follow in his mentor's footsteps and have to push himself through the wilderness while riddled with bullet holes or dragging a broken limb behind him.   
Even so, he feels guilty for taking breaks. He guzzles down water while trying to moderate himself because he's not sure when he'll have a fresh supply. He eats two apples, but he walks while he's chewing so he's not certain it counts as a break. His stomach rebels a little at the fruit but he needs the energy from it. 

No one has followed him. He doesn't pass any traffic, even when he reaches the road. It wouldn't be expected to run into any vehicles at this time of the night, but Tim had been (guiltily) hoping to find another traveler to hitch a ride with. It's probably for the best he doesn't have the temptation. He wouldn't want to put any civilians at risk, should it raise Ra's's ire that he's left. 

Something low in his abdomen starts to ache, then hurt. It's easily ignored at first, and Tim only has to idly contemplate what could be wrong. He could have pulled a muscle. His intestines could be unhappy at his irregular eating schedule. His uterus might be unhappy he's gone off its routine of drugs so suddenly and is still trying to adjust. That seems the most likely from the cramping pains. 

The cramps turn sharper, and deeper. Tim contemplates appendicitis and wonders if his appendix had been the organ that was infected and if antibiotics only lulled it into waiting a while longer to rupture. 

His feet start to blister after his heels have rubbed through the thick socks he put on and against the shoes he hasn't worn for months. There had been little occasion to wear the boots inside or running. Even so, he keeps walking. He feels like there's a string pulling him to Jason, or a magnet drawing him closer. The imagery helps him put one foot in front of the other, even when his vision swims and he spends a precious few minutes retching up stomach acid and the peel of the apple he'd consumed most recently. 

Jason will know what to do. Jason will help him. Jason will get them both out of here. He gets to see _Jason_ again and sleep next to the man and breathe in his scent. That makes any pain worth it. If this is a test for Tim to prove he's worthy, he's going to pass with flying colors. 

~*~*~

The rendezvous point is a local landmark. It's a rock formation stained varying shades of pink and purple by the weather and the type of rock that comprises it. Easy to locate, though Tim hadn't realized how mammoth it was. He and Jason hadn't discussed which side of the feature they would meet on, or how far away from either side. It's still dark; the moon is setting and Tim hadn't thought it would take that long to arrive. He has flashlights and lanterns in his pack but those are hardly any good for locating someone when they aren't at a close distance. 

He sits. He can't walk any further, at least not right now. He wants to cry at how miserable he feels; overheated, exhausted, and with his stomach aching fiercely. His feet are throbbing. He would throw up again if he had anything left in his stomach. 

He's come _so far_ for this. It's only at this moment that he realizes he doesn't know what he'll do if Jason isn't waiting. He's not sure he can find his own transportation; he's not even certain he can stand up again. What are his choices, then? Going back to Ra's and begging forgiveness? 

“Tim?” The voice is soft and, at first Tim thinks he hallucinated it. He looks around in the quickly fading light, spotting the man approaching him only due to the movement. “Fuck. I thought you couldn't make it out.”

Then Jason is sweeping him up, holding him tightly. He lifts him physically off his feet in his enthusiasm, spinning him a little which is just so unlike the man that Tim feels like this might all be some fevered dream and he's actually collapsed somewhere, close to death. “When you weren't on time I thought you were just delayed. But then...God, I thought so many horrible things.” He squeezes him, and Tim whimpers. 

Instantly, he's put back down on his aching feet. “What happened?” Jason demands. “What's wrong? Did they hurt you?” He pauses a moment and then Tim is nearly blinded by the bright halogen bulb of his flashlight. “Shit. You look terrible.” 

“I was sick,” Tim manages to murmur before Jason's hand is on his face, disrupting whatever neurological function he needs to form words. “I had a really high fever. I don't know what else. I don't know if he poisoned me or if I actually caught something. I don't remember-” He can't show weakness right now. A pack is only as strong as its weakest member and he and Jason are a pack now. He has to hold up his half of it. “I just know something's wrong,” he finishes weakly. “But I want to go back to Gotham as quickly as possible. Everything can wait until then.” 

Jason's expression looks skeptical, but perhaps that's the shadows his flashlight casts on his sharp features. “Normally I'd believe you and be happy to go. But if we're going to be on a plane for double digit hours? I'd really like someone to tell me you're not going to die of a blood clot or anything while we're on board.” 

“I'm not going to die of a blood clot,” he replies. Something else, maybe, but a blood clot feels unlikely after all that hiking he did. “Do you have a plane waiting?”

“Tomorrow,” Jason replies. “I have a car. It's not too far...can you walk?” He looks Tim over and frowns. “I guess I should ask how far you can walk, instead.” 

Tim appreciates the care being taken of him, but he's also aware that any moment now there could be assassins on their tail. “I can walk as far as you need me to walk.” 

“Yeah, baby bird, I don't buy that for a second.” His arm loops around Tim's middle and he can't help the pained sound he makes. “You sore here?” He asks like it wasn't obvious. “That shit can be serious. How long has it been like this?”

“Just since the middle of the hike. Come on, we have to go.” There's a sudden sense of urgency in Tim. He's not even certain why. Instincts have him nearly frantic to get away. They're warning him of something, but he can't be certain of what. 

At least, not until he takes another few steps, trying to pull away from Jason to prove he can walk on his own two feet. He feels something pull in his abdomen. Then there's a rush of wet between his legs. He's humiliated for a split second, because it definitely feels like he's pissed himself, but Jason's eyes go wide as he moves the flashlight and suddenly his pants are illuminated. 

It's not pee. It's _blood_. Just spot, not much of anything really, and he knows that these things tend to look worse than they are. Worse is the searing pain that accompanies it, tearing through his lower stomach like a knife. 

Spotting can be normal during ovulation. It can follow a heat, or a conception, or rough sex. “It's not bad. Probably just from all the walking-”

Before he can so much as blink, Jason is picking him up, packs and all. “We're going to get some help for you, Timmy. There's a city not far. Can you hold on for that long?” He walks easily, like Tim weighs nothing at all. “What can we do until then?”

“Nothing,” Tim breathes. It's true; it's not as though they can put pressure on a wound they can't see or reach. They can hardly medicate the pain, either. Regrettable as it is, he knows he _has_ to find medical help, if only to find out what's going on and that something inside him isn't about to rupture, or hasn't done so already. “Do you know somewhere safe to go?”

“I'll find somewhere,” he replies as he settles him in the passenger seat of a pick-up truck and tosses his bags in the back. “Just hold on.” 

What choice does he have?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments most appreciated. Prompts accepted! Here or [here](http://strikeyourcolors.tumblr.com/ask). Until next time!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim seeks medical attention. Jason helps. Nothing explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading all the theories spinning around this. Happy Fourth of July to anyone celebrating. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are non-specific medical exams, brief mention of needles, and referral to the non-specific non-consensual medical procedure.

Tim thinks maybe he can catch a nap as Jason drives, but the man isn't about to let him go to sleep and, really, the city isn't that far away when they're driving and not walking. The bleeding stops, as far as he can tell without closer examination. “I think it was a few clots that broke open,” he announces. “I'm probably fine.” 

“Even so,” Jason replies. “Before I load you into a plane and keep you in quarters people would feel uncomfortable having a dog in, I'd like to make sure you're not going to die on me mid-flight. I don't want to explain to some very unhappy owners why little Timmy didn't make it and how they should have paid a premium baggage fee.” 

“I'm not a puppy and I don't have owners,” he snaps grouchily. He pushes on his belly again. It's still sore. It's still slightly swollen, but there's nothing else indicating he should be concerned. “I don't feel that horrible. I feel a little sick and overtaxed but I've been worse off.” 

The man glances at him briefly before his attention fixes back on the road. “Tell me when you started feeling sick and what happened afterward.” 

It might just be a ploy to keep him talking. Even so, Tim relays the story to him. It's not uncommon for him to start feeling ill when eating and that, as near as he can remember, is when it all started. He remembers staggering to his room and explains waking up in the medical area. “Everything from then on is a bit fuzzy.” 

“You don't find that suspicious?”

“If I had a fever high enough to have a seizure, not really. Ra's never gave any indication he wanted to hurt me, Jason. I know it sounds weird but I don't think he had any plans to keep me captive.” At least, until the final day. 

“Unless you were too sick to leave,” the other man replies. “Do you really think he would have taken you there only to monitor you and give you antibiotics?” There's no judgment in his tone and Tim is glad of that. He already knows how stupid he's been. 

He shifts a little, grimacing at the blood drying against his skin. “I don't have anything wrong with me I can find, which led me to believe an illness or poisoning would be more likely than any other alteration. I don't have any surgical wounds. I don't have anything strange under my skin.” 

It's nearing dawn and the city is starting to come alive with people. Jason seems to know where he's going as he weaves through the streets. At last they come to a fairly nondescript building. Jason raps on the back door of it once they are out of the car, with Tim limping along more due to the pain of his blisters than anything else hurting. 

There's an omega standing there when the door opens. Tim's nose itches with the strength of the scent until he realizes that she's visibly pregnant. “This is Asha,” Jason introduces her. “She patched me up a few times. Asha, this is Alvin Draper.” 

It's not a very good alias, since it's his most well-known one. But he nods in greeting and the omega offers a half-bow before gesturing them inside. She speaks to Jason and Tim knows enough to realize she's speaking in an Arabic language, but beyond that he can't make out what she's saying. Jason has always had more of an ear for language and translation. 

Asha leads them to an exam room while Jason describes to her what is going on. At least, judging by his tone and gestures, that's what Tim decides he's saying. She definitely looks at the bloodstain on his pants and nods a few times. 

“Sit,” she tells him as she moves to the sink to wash her hands. “Strip? Sit,” she repeats, inclining her head on the exam table. 

Tim looks at Jason. 

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks. “She speaks enough English that I'm sure you can get by, but I'll probably have to translate anything more detailed than basic instructions.” 

It's a conflict. Jason is going to find out anyway, even if he steps out. Tim sighs as he strips off pants and underwear. He leaves on his shirt, for whatever modesty that gives him as he sits on the cold exam table. It's clean, but it has definitely seen better days. It's probably older than Tim himself. “Stay,” He decides. “Probably above my head?”

“I actually have no desire to view your genitals like this,” he replies, taking a seat to the side of the exam table. “Surprisingly.” 

The humor is appreciated, even if the situation is awkward. Now that he can examine the damage, the bleeding really isn't so bad. “I should shower first,” he protests awkwardly to Asha. 

She puts a firm hand on him and nudges him back down. She also hands a syringe to Jason, who sighs as he snaps on gloves. “She always puts me to work. I'm going to take a little blood to test. She says she'll be done before I am.” 

“That doesn't bode well for how many times I'm going to get stabbed,” Tim jokes. 

It's only twice before Jason hits a vein with enough accuracy and, with how many other ways he's suffered in the past few days, he hardly notices the blood draw. Asha is a little harder to ignore as she prods his belly and nudges his thighs apart. He nods in accordance to her inquiring noise, assuming she's asking him if that hurts. 

The fingers that go inside him definitely hurt in a way they shouldn't. Tim yips and jerks almost completely off the table before Asha makes a comforting sound, patting his thigh as she speaks to Jason. 

“She says there's an incision,” Jason translates. 

“What?” Tim questions, staring down at his belly as though it's spontaneously developed a wound. “No there's not.” 

The woman shakes her head, taking Tim's hand and having him reach down as well. She pushes his fingers to his entrance and he, very hesitantly, moves them inside. “Back,” she tells him. “Up.” 

It _hurts_. It brings tears to his eyes because the pain is so bizarre and intimate and burning. But he feels something there; it's definitely something that shouldn't be there. He pulls his fingers back up and she hands him a towel to wipe them off on.

“It's an incision for a surgical procedure. It hasn't broken open, but you're bleeding from your uterus,” Jason says. He seems calm about it, but Tim can imagine the rage beneath the surface. “It's not an active bleed any more. It's blood from the surgery that came out after it clotted.” 

Asha nods again. Her smile is pretty and her expression is comforting. Tim feels a little like he's left his body; he's floating somewhere and this can't possibly be reality. Everything here is too surreal. He has an incision in his body. He's had surgery. “What did they do?”

She begins the examination again after Jason repeats his words. “The uterus is intact, but swollen. The ovaries are almost impossible to palpate due to abdominal swelling. It could be that one twisted or is just sunk further back in your abdomen. If you're not having horrible pain it's probably not torsion or anything.” 

Tim grits his teeth. He wishes, just a little, that he were unconscious for this part. “Can you tell her to do what she can? I'll go to a hospital in Gotham, I promise. I just want to be home.” It's grown from an ache to a pain since seeing Jason. He's so close to home. He doesn't want to be in this place a moment longer than he has to.

She cleans the incision and his abdomen as best she can. She gives him a dose of antibiotics and writes down her findings on a sheet of paper that Jason tucks away with several other documents he's carrying. 

They leave with a lot of the blood test results still pending. It's come back clean for any life-threatening toxins, but it takes time and a more experienced tech for a full work up and they have neither at the moment. Tim's grateful to wash off as best as he can in the sink and change into clean clothing. He's walking better thanks to bandages on his blisters and painkillers in his system. 

“It's like a pharmacy,” Jason tells him as he jingles the little bag full of pills at Tim. “You've got something for nausea and something for bleeding and something for sleeping.” 

He makes some noise of acknowledgment, aware Jason is furious and brooding and trying to conceal both those facts. He knows as well as Tim that they don't have time to fall apart or seek revenge or even look for answers. “We have a flight to catch?” He pauses. “Did I already ask that?”

“Yeah,” Jason replies. “And yes. This afternoon. I thought we'd grab a bite to eat and blend in until it's time to go to the airfield.” 

“It sounds good,” Tim agrees even though the chances of him blending in are quite slim when he looks like the walking dead. “Have you just been living here since you left me?”

The other man shrugs and looks away like he does when he's embarrassed. It's cute enough that Tim can almost forget everything that has gone horribly wrong today. Well, rather what he found out about today. It's just like his hike to Jason; he has to keep moving and put one foot in front of the other. He can't afford to collapse yet. 

“Off and on,” he admits. “I took a few jobs and met with a few people which is why I needed Asha to patch me up. She's basically a doctor though if anyone asks she'll just say she's the record keeper at that clinic.” 

The temptation to go back and ask Asha to come home with them is very real in Tim's heart, but he knows she's smart and capable and that it's her decision to do as she pleases. If she wanted an escape she certainly would have asked them. 

“Maybe somewhere a little mild for the food,” he requests. “My stomach still isn't very happy with me and I'd prefer not to draw attention puking in the nearest potted plant or something.” 

“I guess unnecessary surgery performed without your consent will do that,” Jason says, and it's clear that there will be far more discussions about this in the future, but this is all he's letting slide at the moment for the sake of their survival. “I think I know a place.” 

Eating with Jason is much different than eating with Ra's. They sit together, clustered in a corner booth in the restaurant of an upscale hotel. Jason's thigh presses against his and the touch is soothing and welcomed. Tim can pick at his food as he pleases without judgment, and he can eat choice pieces of his companion's dish while exchanging them for parts of his own he doesn't want. 

It feels like home. It feels natural. How could he ever have thought existing in Ra's's compound would feel this way? He would have been a prisoner, whether bound by his word or by literal chains. 

He can't eat much and Jason coaxes him to take at least one of the anti-nausea pills. He promises to take care of him, even if they make him drowsy. Tim hopes the amount of (very good) coffee he drinks will counteract that even if it eats away at his already raw stomach lining. He needs to feel like a competent human who doesn't get experimented on again, and competent humans drink coffee and eat meals. 

~*~*~

Jason herds him to the airport in the late afternoon. Tim is basically asleep on his feet and longing for the plane to take off simply so he can swallow a few painkillers and hopefully pass out. Ideally, he knows he should remain alert and aware in case there's an emergency. Logic and statistics dictate, however, that if the plane is going to crash he'll die anyway so he might as well sleep through it. 

If there are parachutes, he trusts Jason will at least attempt to wrangle him in one. It's nice to have someone watching out for him so he maybe can avoid dying in a fiery crash. 

They don't end up in a commercial plane, but of course Tim never expected they would. It's another cargo plane that Jason approaches, though this one is loaded up with dry goods and fabrics and piloted by none other than Roy Harper. He salutes Tim and doesn't ask questions about his ragged state, which Tim appreciates from the other omega. He understands that the superhero game and the world at large suck to those of their sex and sometimes you just don't want to talk about it. 

Jason sets him up with some blankets in the back, surrounded by bags of rice and beans. It almost makes him feel like he's in a nest and somehow more secure and he hates the primal parts of his brain for telling him that but safe is something he hasn't felt in quite a while, honestly. 

“Asha said it's too early to tell if you're pregnant,” Jason says as he secures Tim's heavier pack to a nearby strap to keep it from sliding around. “You want to take a break and chill at Roy's place for a week or so until you know?”

Tim hadn't considered that, at least, not consciously. “All the blood,” he begins. “Surely it couldn't-” 

The larger man shrugs, reaching out to comb fingers through his hair and rub his wrist against Tim's temples like the scent will ease him. “I seriously doubt it could but I thought I would offer. I know how it can be when people have questions and you don't have answers yet.” 

“If I'm pregnant I'm getting rid of it,” he replies bluntly. “I have to deal with whatever they did to me first. Everyone else can fuck off if they have any strong opinions on it.” 

Jason blinks and Tim realizes that it's probably the most vocal and the most harsh he's been since he's seen the man again. There's still anger bubbling inside him, quelled for the moment only by exhaustion and lingering illness. He's mad at Dick for not leading. He's mad at Bruce for trying to let the justice system work. He's perpetually mad at Damian for existing. He's furious at Jason for leaving him, and leaving Gotham, and only arriving when Tim was trying to pull his weight in saving the city. 

He stares at the other man, and doesn't apologize. 

“Ah, baby bird,” Jason murmurs. 

He wants to fight the hug. He only weakly struggles against the way Jason's arms come around him and how his larger frame rolls over the barricade of rice bags to cradle him and hold him close. He hates how he can't even be properly mad at this man. He hates that Jason had to save his sanity, if not his life. He hates that he wants to cry at this entire miserable experience and how his body is no longer his own. He doesn't want to think of someone altering it and tampering it without his consent, or his knowledge. 

“I'm ready to take off,” Roy announces, chipper as always. They all have ways of coping with shitty circumstances and the redhead is a shining example of that. “You two need anything?”

Tim grunts out some kind of reply but Jason actually uses words. “We're fine. You need a co-pilot?”

“After last time?” Roy laughs. “No thanks, Jaybird. I don't need soda all over any delicate controls again. I've got this handled and I'll let you know if anything changes, alright?”

Tim appreciates that he's being casual and only dropping hints that he knows Tim needs Jason as emotional support far more than he needs Jason as a co-pilot. Being treated normally is part of returning to normal, isn't it?

“Close your eyes,” Jason urges him. “Take off in this thing is probably rougher than you're used to.” 

“I've been in the Batplane, same as you,” he snips. “I'm not delicate. I'm not broken. I don't need-” 

“Of course not,” his sometimes lover cuts in. “You're the strongest person I know, Tim.”

He feels like the weakest. He feels like he's all the things he protests he's not. He defiantly keeps his eyes open as the plane lurches to motion and shudders into the air like it might rip apart at any moment. Jason's fingers stroke his wrists, thumbs rubbing and pressing in a little above the joint to his hand. It's an acupressure point to avoid nausea; he appreciates it even if he's glad the gesture doesn't require acknowledgment. 

He thinks about reading, or about trying to plan some more. Instead he leans against Jason, soaking up comfort and warmth from him and letting the man surround him in scent and safety. He doesn't have to think, for the moment. When they land, reality can come crashing back to him. He'll have to find a doctor and submit to as many tests as he can. He'll have to deal with his brothers. He'll have to answer to his father. He'll be surrounded by the ruin of the city he was born in. 

Right now he wants to simply drift and give his mind the rest it desperately needs before it falls apart. 

Jason wakes him once, tucking him under his leather jacket before moving to the cockpit to join Roy. He must sleep again, off and on, because the flight passes in a daze.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Roy asks at some point during their journey. They must have landed for fuel, because the man is standing too near him to be piloting the plane. Tim doesn't bother to lift his head. 

“Yeah,” Jason murmurs. “He's just had a really shitty week.”

He resists the urge to laugh; that's the understatement of the fucking year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/prompts/reviews always appreciated. Here, tumblr, or discord are great! Thanks for reading. It always makes me smile to see the comments from readers week after week.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is finally back in Gotham, and things start to fall into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! Epilogue and divergent fic to follow. Thanks for reading along. I realize I'm a day late again and I appreciate your patience. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include a brief medical scene and mentions of non-consensual body alteration.

Gotham is the same cesspool he remembers it being, and that's amazingly comforting. Winter has set in while he's been gone, though the blasts of heat from underground haven't yet cooled to an acceptable level to be warming instead of scalding. It makes the streets steam and most of the city stink and Tim can't remember ever actually enjoying it. 

Roy offers to grab a wheelchair and Tim politely turns him down, instead offering to stick around and help unload his cargo. The bleeding has completely stopped. His stomach is still tender but doesn't hurt any longer. Apparently crashing so hard has helped his energy reserves enough that he's not the desperate, wreck of a person he thought he'd be when touching down on home soil. 

Jason frowns at him and tries to prevent him from lifting anything too heavy. They unload Roy's possibly ill-gotten gains into a cart which he takes to a nearby locking storage unit. “Lots of dishonest people in the world,” The redhead says teasingly. “You'd be surprised what people will steal these days, though. I got my hat stolen when I left it unattended for under a minute.” 

He's not surprised what desperate people will steal. He wonders exactly how horrible things have gotten and how worse they'll continue to get. 

“Roy's just mad because he liked the hat,” Jason informs him with a smirk and a nudge to his shoulder. “No one is stealing hats to boil and eat them, Timmy. I promise.” 

“You boil shoes and belts and only if they're made of real leather, Jaybird,” the archer quips as he tosses a final few bags onto the last lot on the cart that needs to be taken to be locked up. “What do the two of you need? Got a place to stay?”

It's appreciated that he asks, as though they're not the sons of a former billionaire. Though, all things considered, so is Roy. He understands how it can be. “I have a place. You can give us a ride there if you don't mind, though.” 

Jason lights up a cigarette while they wait for Roy to finish locking his cargo and load them into his car. It's the first he's seen him smoke in quite a while and he doesn't look remotely guilty. Tim wishes he had a vice to give into to calm him; maybe he should take one up. 

They both thank Roy in their own ways. Tim actually uses the word and Jason critiques his driving and calls him a few expletives. The apartment Jason takes him to is one he's seen before; it's possibly the man's oldest known safehouse. Tim would have to check his records to be certain; it's amazing to him now that he once kept records of such things. 

“You should probably have something to eat. Drink some water too; flying is hell on dehydrating you.” Jason flips on the lights and Tim blinks; he's not sure what time it is exactly but a clock informs him that it actually about dinner time for this time-zone. He opens the refrigerator. “Scratch the food, but I do have water that isn't expired. I probably have cans of food, too.” 

He doesn't feel like eating. He still doesn't feel like existing if he's not performing some type of manual labor that is mindless enough to keep him moving, but here he is. “I'm fine. I ate enough on the flight.” 

“You snacked on the flight,” Jason retorts. “Not that I'm not glad you kept food down but it's not really a meal.” 

“Neither is eating something from a can.” 

“Spaghettios are a meal, you pretentious, stuck up, rich boy,” he replies. “Even when eaten from a can with your fingers.” 

Tim pauses. Jason stares at him in silent challenge. Then they are both laughing. Tim is all but cackling, gut aching and throat burning from his impromptu bout of amusement. He's not even certain what's struck him as so funny but he can't seem to stop laughing for at least a couple of minutes. 

Jason pushes a bottle of water into his hand after and he takes a few sips as he calms down. “Should I call Dick and let him know we're back? Or at least that I'm back in Gotham if you want to pretend to still be gallivanting across the world?”

“It's selfish,” the other man replies. “But I want you all to myself tonight if you'll let me have that. I'll order a pizza. We can watch a movie.” 

“You can order a pizza,” he agrees. “But I want you to brief me on what you know about the state of Gotham. I also want to do a little research. The sooner I can start my research, the better.” 

He's surprised when his demands are met with a quick nod and the offer of a spare laptop Jason has lying around. It's a relief that not all technology has fallen to ruin even if internet speeds are slower than Tim imagined possible and some websites are barely functional or are gone all together. He drinks his bottle of water, and another when Jason refills it. 

Things aren't as bad as he feared. The city's economy seems to have stabilized for the time being but any mishap could set it back into a downward slide. The people of Gotham are resilient. 

Of course, crime rates have gone up, but they've been steadily on the rise for a while now. Social programs have shut down and remaining government entities are entirely overloaded on all sides. Prisons are even more crowded. The court system is all but useless when it can't enforce any punishment other than imprisonment. 

Still, none of it is beyond fixing. It isn't the catastrophe he'd felt looming when he went to Ra's al Ghul for help. It might still turn into that; Tim isn't optimistic enough to think that they are completely out of the woods or that they will be for years. It's a place to start, however. 

Jason has pizza delivered. Tim nibbles at it at first, then embraces the cheesy goodness and grease that is probably going to make him sick but that he hasn't realized he missed until this moment. He's just finished washing the pizza down with soda when Jason steals a kiss. “I'm sorry,” he says as soon as they part. “Should I not?”

“No, you should,” Tim confirms and he's glad he's feeling dizzy for an entirely different reason now. He loops his fingers in Jason's shirt and tugs him closer. “You should, repeatedly. I've missed kissing you.” 

He's missed affection and physical touch. He's missed being able to give and take these things with no strings being attached. It's what drew he and Jason together as lovers to begin with, however sporadic and often torrid their love affairs ended up being, they knew what it was to defy society's expectations and yet still want to take some hints of normalcy for yourself. 

It can't go much further than kissing and heavy petting, but Tim reminds himself that in this, as with Gotham, there's time to spare. He can have Jason tomorrow night, if he wants, and a month from now. He does want. He very much wants. If nothing else, that provides inspiration to get himself in physical order. 

~*~*~

He learns that there's a thriving organ-trade and human-experimentation ring in Gotham based on the fact that the doctor asks no questions when he arrives with an only slightly edited version of his story. It's a bit disconcerting to learn that organs are being stolen from rich and poor alike and there are rumors of people going missing only to come back with wild tales of having medical devices and various drugs tested on them. 

Even so, Leslie Thompkins is bogged down with cases far more desperate than his own and he doesn't want to take resources away from her. He can pay for a doctor and there are certainly enough of them who are reputable enough to be skilled but currently poor enough to be discreet for the right price. It occurs to Tim that he has no money to buy his silence, should the man figure out who he is, but Jason takes care of that for him. 

There's more blood testing for illicit substances and long-acting poisons, though Tim has the feeling anything he was drugged with has long ago been burned out of his system. The doctor, a beta named Marvin who works with his two daughters as his medical assistants, offers to take hair and tissue samples as well but Tim declines; he'll test those himself. He can run scans for toxic evidence himself; he can't examine his own anatomy with any sort of accuracy. 

He explains about the incision Asha found, and the bleeding that led to her discovery. Marvin snorts in disgust. “They get skilled surgeons and then have no post-operative care. Let's see what we're dealing with.” 

It's less than pleasant, but Tim expected as much. He knows Jason is nearby, but he'd all but forbidden him from entering the building. Some things he wants to find out and deal with himself. 

“They went in through the vaginal wall. That's usually a smart move; it reduces healing time and cuts the risk of infection. There are some abrasions, however, and a few of the stitches came loose. They should have used a glue to secure them but they didn't. You'll probably have a scar.” 

Everything is still tender, even more than a week after the fact. Tim's been tortured before, though, so this is comparatively easy. “Can you tell if I'm pregnant?”

“Your urinalysis came back negative,” one of the doctor's daughters informs him. They're identical twins; Tim hasn't kept track of which one is where and wearing what color. “The blood test will be run too, just in case.” 

It's a relief, even when Marvin presses down hard enough on his belly that he can't breathe for a split second. “The womb is still swollen and irritated. You'll probably bleed a bit after your next heat. I don't feel any signs of pregnancy, however. I feel signs of trauma. You would normally make this sort of incision for a hysterectomy.” 

“What else could be done?” 

Marvin gestures and his assistant pulls over an ultrasound. Tim grimaces, but his guess on where it is going to go proves to be wrong when the doctor removes his gloves and pulls the paper blanket on Tim's hips lower. Gel is applied so air bubbles won't be present. He's familiar with this and it settles him a little; ultrasounds don't tend to hurt. 

He can't make much sense out of the images on screen, however; he's not that experienced. “I don't see a zygote,” the beta announces. “I do, however, think we found the reason for the surgery. You're missing one of your ovaries.”

“The left one?” Tim asks. “She said...it could be twisted or something.” 

“No. It's definitely gone.” Marvin looks at a loss for a moment, then awkwardly pats his thigh. “The other one seems to be whole and functional, however. Omegas can still have perfectly normal conceptions and resulting pregnancies with one ovary.” 

That's not a concern. The implication of where his other ovary is at the moment is far more troubling. “What could someone do with an ovary?”

“Harvest eggs,” he replies with a shrug. “The eggs would last perhaps a week without a blood supply. It's very difficult to keep an actual organ alive without a human body. They probably would extract eggs as quickly as possible and sell what was left to medical research.” 

It's what he expected, but it's better to have it confirmed rather than spend his time wondering. 

“I can't imagine anyone wanting to bring more children into this world at this point, but those with fertility issues will pay quite a lot to have an egg from the right omega.” 

Tim almost wishes that were the case. “And how long will they be able to use the eggs?”

Marvin moves away with the ultrasound after a final sweep. “If they freeze them properly? Years.” 

It's also about what he suspected. That doesn't make him feel any better. Of course Ra's was going to find a way to have an heir out of him, one way or another. 

He manages to contain his fury for the rest of the appointment. He's prescribed vitamins and assured the supply will probably remain steady, though more of the population needs them with food sources less varied than usual. The doctor advises him to abstain from intercourse for another few weeks until the incision has fully healed and to report any bleeding. 

“You shouldn't feel anything different after the healing process,” Marvin reassures him. “You will still have heats and still ovulate. I would suggest you report this to the police if only so they have it on file should any child of yours be found in the system, and move on with your life.” 

He wishes it were that easy. He meets Jason at a café down the road. The coffee is bland and they only have two types of pastry to choose from, but they are open and that's more than most small businesses in Gotham can boast. 

“Ra's took my ovary,” he informs the man casually. “Just one so I still have to be on birth control and have heats and everything.”

Jason blinks. “What does he want with your ovary?”

“The eggs inside it, I'd imagine. That's, optimistically, three hundred eggs in case you were curious how many they could harvest. I guess he'll get his heir but at least it won't be coming out of me. Physically.” That's a silver lining to all of this, isn't it? Ra's didn't take something he couldn't live without and he didn't actually impregnate him. It's still unsettling, and Tim probably is going to have to break a few things when he thinks about how easy it was to violate him this way, but it could have been so much worse. He has more important things to focus on. 

The other man seems to be attempting to take his cues on how to react from Tim. “What do you want to do? Are you alright, otherwise?”

Tim is almost tempted to add more sugar to the coffee in his hand, if only to give it a taste other than like the same grounds have been used for far too long. “I'm fine otherwise. I have vitamins and I'm supposed to abstain from sex for a few months. They advised me to seek medical help if I bleed again. But once I'm healed everything should be back to normal for me.” He frowns. “Except that one day I'll probably have a moment like Bruce had when he was introduced to Damian, except it will be Ra's al Ghul's child.” 

“Provided,” Jason adds, “That any survive. I hear Damian was difficult enough to produce artificially. Talia's no spring chicken. All things considered she would be past her childbearing years if she hadn't taken a few dunks in the Lazarus Pit but I'm sure that does its own damage.” 

It reminds Tim of conversations he's had with Ra's. He thinks instantly back to the family tree and how Damian is the only one of his generation at all and his mother the only left of hers. The al Ghuls don't seem to breed often and he's always assumed it was simply to keep the bloodline pure. 

But what if they couldn't?

“Ra's is at least five hundred years old,” Tim says slowly. “What do you think the odds are of him being able to sire a child?”

“That's a phrase I never really thought I'd hear and I don't actually tend to contemplate the fertility of my enemies unless I've personally done some damage to their junk,” his companion replies, “But I'd assume the odds aren't great. They'll probably go up with scientific intervention.” 

The coffee and stale donut suddenly taste so much better in the wake of new found knowledge. “I have a theory,” Tim announces. “Let me read up on sperm motility and how to count them and then I might need you to test my theory.” 

Jason sighs, but leans forward to offer Tim another light, affectionate kiss. “I'm not going to like this, am I?”

Tim feels bold as his lips brush against the man's ear. “I'll make it as fun as possible. I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/Comments/Prompts always appreciated and (usually) replied to! Thanks for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim settles down and ties up loose ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter...sort of. The epilogue, anyway. There will be a divergent fic but I'm not sure if I'll tack it on after this or wait a few weeks! If you have any suggestions, let me know. 
> 
> Thanks for following around this long, I appreciate your readership and comments!

Dick hugs him so hard that Tim thinks his eyeballs are going to explode. Damian greets him with a face of tired disdain but he catches him later, gently trying to brush against the sleeve of his coat as though to verify he's real and in Gotham. 

By mutual agreement, he and Jason don't tell them what Ra's took from him. He doesn't want Dick's pitying looks or sympathy petting and none of them need Damian swearing vengeance on anyone else or worrying about having an uncle who is genetically Tim's child. He decides, eventually, that he'll have to tell Bruce just in case something should come of it. 

That has to wait until Bruce is out of prison, of course. He can take comfort in the fact that his father has been through discovering he had a child created against his will by his enemy. He can't receive personalized comfort with him because it's not a story he wants to tap out in code to Bruce during one of their visits and he's sure their conversations are monitored enough that he doesn't dare tell him what happened in so many words. 

He tries to move back into the manor and finds it stifling and cold, even when his brothers and Alfred are there. It isn't home without Bruce. It might not even be home with him any more; Tim's not sure. For now he's pleased enough to consider the city at large his residence. 

He finds a place downtown that is more accessible to everything he needs; less reason to waste expensive fuel. Jason shows up within a week with way more bags than he needs to just stash a few things at Tim's place for emergencies and overnights. Tim's not complaining; Jason's scent, combined with his own, makes him feel warmer and safer than he thought imaginable. He finds himself huffing the bed when his (now current again) lover leaves and silently vows to get back on suppressants as quickly as possible. 

His plans for Gotham go well. _Amazingly_ well enough that Tim can hold his head up high when he takes a turn visiting Bruce. He embraces the man, soaks in the affection, relishes the fact that Bruce can't truly lecture him for being stupid as well as she should be able to without an audience. Instead of telling him what Ra's's money has been able to do for Gotham, Tim is able to tell him what _he_ is starting to do for their city. 

The process isn't easy. Transitioning Gotham into doing anything remotely agricultural is tricky to begin with and Tim is half hoping that Poison Ivy crawls out from wherever she's been hiding to help out. There's not a lot to grow in winter, but it gives them time to prepare for the spring so they'll have another source of food before things get truly dire. It provides time to build an infrastructure as well and he's only too happy to call in contacts from Wayne Industries. For all the backstabbing and corruption that can occur in large businesses, he largely has a good group of people who want to help the city. 

Jason reminds him that they probably want the glory, in on the ground level of something that would make millions in a normal economy, and that they'll be first in line to want to be paid a decent wage again, but Tim didn't think they were doing it for free anyway. 

Red Robin waits several months to return but when Tim swings through the air he knows without a doubt that this is his place. This is how he's going to help Gotham. 

The trunks and other luggage left in Ra's's care arrive to the Manor. Dick expects there to be a body inside. Damian expects a bomb. Tim expects a shriveled ovary and a note berating him for being useless in providing an heir as though his eggs would be the problem and not billion year old sperm. 

They're all wrong; inside are Tim's possessions and a decent amount of gold bars. 

Gold is currency in any language. Tim's not sure what to make of the gesture, especially once they find out that it's real. 

“Send it back,” Dick says. “We don't need him thinking he can buy you or any of us.” 

“Return it personally and jam it down his throat,” Damian suggests. 

Tim reads the note sent with it when he's alone, just in case it includes something incriminating. There's no mention of Ra's performing surgery on him or currently growing any of his offspring in artificial wombs. It only says that his upgrades to the systems at the compound are working quite well and he's impressed by what Tim has done in Gotham so far and wishes to help him along. 

It's blood money (or egg money, really) and there's no doubt about that. It's also ridiculously tempting and Tim spends an entire night simply looking up how much of everything they could buy with that kind of currency available. 

Jason, as always, offers a more reasonable view. He wraps himself basically completely around Tim, rubbing his face over his hair and throat and running his hands over his skin to re-establish his scent since now most of Tim's clothes smell like Ra's from sheer proximity to the man. “I doubt he's trying to buy you off. He probably suspects you'd find out what he did but what does he have to lose if you do? Nothing.” 

That much is true; Tim could probably swear vengeance on him or something but he has bigger fish to fry. If Gotham was in a better state he'd probably invest some effort into finding a laboratory of Ra's's to destroy but as it is, more important things need his attention. 

“The money could help so many people,” he admits, tipping his head when Jason starts mouthing his neck and offering a little purr in response at the sensation. “But I don't want to feel like he bought me or like it comes with strings. What if he shows up and asks for something because I took the money?”

“You tell him to fuck off,” Jason answers sagely. “He took a literal piece of you. He owes you his head in a bag at your feet.” He drops a kiss on the back of his hair. “You know how people say money can't buy happiness?”

“Yeah.” 

“Those people are full of shit because money can buy food and medical treatment and the ability to provide more of those things for people who desperately need them and that sure as hell will cause some happiness.” The man's arms wrap around his waist and give him a squeeze. Tim rests back against him, far more comfortable than he's ever been. 

“Basically you're forcing me to take the money,” he reminds Jason. 

“Mhm,” he agrees. “I'm also suggesting you don't tell Dickface and just pretend your genius has allowed you to cover the vast expanses that you will, when actually gold is closing the gap.” 

Tim sighs fondly. “You might be a little evil.” 

His partner kisses him again. “It's more than a little.” 

~*~*~

He has to meet with Bruce eventually. He delays it, giving those cherished turns visiting the prison to his brothers and Alfred and even extended acquaintances as long as he possibly can. He wants proof to show him and he wants hope of the man getting out to prove that it has all been worth it. 

He's sure Bruce's attorney has explained all the legal loopholes they've found to jump through. Tim might be great at analyzing documents but he'd needed more than a bit of help on finding things legally permissible. Apparently declaring martial law in Gotham had changed quite a few of Bruce's charges and the penalties they carry.

“I heard you've been visiting a friend of the family,” Bruce says after they've exchanged the most basic of pleasantries. His eyes haven't lost their cool sharpness. He's lost weight. He's aged. He has a new scar across his face. Tim notices all of these things nearly instantly. 

The tone would suggest to anyone that this is not a favored family friend Tim visited, even if Bruce's words suggest otherwise. “I found my way there and back again,” he replies with a friendly shrug, as though it really had been a simple visit and he hadn't been lucky to escape with his life and one ovary still attached. 

“I also heard you came back with a nasty bug and took a while to recover. I hope you're healthy now.” It's probably a fortunate thing for Bruce that his life has trained him for speaking this way, with the assumption he's being casually overheard but that the right person will know the true meaning of his words. 

It's not much of a secret that Tim was sick upon his return to Gotham. Anyone probably would have mentioned it. “I feel much better.” That's all Bruce needs to know for the time being. Bruce needs to focus on himself. “ _I_ hear you're not going to be in this facility much longer.” 

The suspicion is there on his father's face. “I'm being transferred to a much smaller facility. Rumor has it that it's the final step before I'm released back into the world. Rumor also says that only people with deep pockets have such a seamless transfer.” 

He shrugs again because Bruce also doesn't need to know part of the pay off of his son's grandfather paid for his freedom. Tim likes to think of it as Ra's giving a gift to Damian; it's difficult to grow up without a father. Tim would spare even an enemy this fate if it was within his power. 

Bruce obviously suspects something, and the well of suspicion runs deep, but he can't tell exactly how far down it goes when Tim gives him nothing to work with. “Maybe all your good works have come back on you,” the younger man offers mildly. He knows he's headed to a show down when Bruce is released but, truly, he believes he'll have a plan to mitigate the damage by then. 

“I'm sure,” he replies dryly. “Dick says you're seeing a lot of Jason?”

“It's not drug money or anything I earned from a contract kill. Just enjoy and plot your victorious return from Elba, Bruce.” There's no need to burden any of them the status of his relationship with Jason. _Tim's_ not eve sure what his relationship status is with Jason, but he certainly likes where it's going. “We're planning on getting a place. Pooling resources, you know?” Jason wants to call any house they buy 'the nest' since it was, after all, bought with egg money. Tim finds it hilarious but he's not sure it's exactly appropriate for them to have to explain. 

“I don't appreciate being compared to Napoleon, Timothy,” Bruce replies, but the man is smiling. Maybe he is, for the first time, thinking of his impending freedom. “But I'm proud of you.” 

It's something. It's enough that maybe this whole crazy experience has been worthwhile. 

Yeah, he'll definitely have a plan for what to say when Bruce is finally free. It just might not be the entire truth; it will the the convenient one.


End file.
